Pet Project
by Caeria
Summary: Hermione overhears something she shouldn't concerning Professor Snape and decides that maybe the House-elves aren't the only ones in need of protection.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: Neither Severus nor Hermione belong to me. Everything belongs to the JK Rowling. I only get to play in the sandbox she's provided.

Thanks to raven gr, Liz, Peri and queenp for making the story presentable.

PET PROJECT

Chapter 1 – Revelations and Eavesdropping

Severus knew better than to smirk in the face of his colleague's rage. Certainly pointing out the fact that her Scottish brogue had deepened to rival that of an Edinburgh dockworker was also probably not his safest course of action. Of course, he had been lying to an unstable madman for 20 years and had been known to goad even Albus Dumbledore into a fury just for the amusement of watching the man lose his damnable twinkle. So really what did he know about safe courses of action? For all that he practiced an inordinate amount of caution in his life; by Slytherin standards he was practically reckless in his dealings with those who had the power to hurt him.

So really, driving Minerva McGonagall into a sputtering, near apoplectic fit just wasn't something he could simply pass up. Besides, if he read her correctly, and he'd spent most of his life learning to read people correctly, all it would take was just one more thing. That in true Slytherin fashion, he would also be twisting an old and bloody knife in Albus was just icing on his already sweet cake.

"Really, Minerva," he drawled, his tone one of someone who honestly doesn't see what the fuss is about, "it was just a prank between boys."

"A prank?" Minerva repeated in outraged tones. "Malfoy's little prank nearly killed Harry. It is completely unacceptable for a student to intentionally endanger the life of another. Bridget above, Severus! If Mr. Weasley hadn't pulled Harry out of the way, the boy would have been killed. I want Malfoy expelled. I will not stand for you coddling and protecting that murderous little animal any longer. His behavior must be stopped."

Severus smiled though it lacked all warmth. "How . . . oddly appropriate that you refer to young Mr. Malfoy as an animal. I believe your own coddled and protected Gryffindors refer to him as a ferret. But you see, Professor," Severus snarled, "that just makes the case of this incident all the more matching to its historical precedence."

He affected a look of thoughtfulness as if trying to remember a long ago memory before turning slightly to where Dumbledore sat behind his large desk. "Remind me Albus, if you will of the details. I seem to recall the animal in question in the original case to be a dog. Correct?" He waved one hand in dismissal before Albus could reply. "But the details hardly matter after all. Dog. . . ferret. It really is the same difference in the end."

Seeing his fellow Head of House opening her mouth to start her argument again, Severus cut her off. "Mr. Malfoy will NOT be expelled. He will NOT apologize, nor will his movements or privileges be curtailed. He will in this matter receive a WEEK's detention to be served with Mr. Filch and that will be the end of it."

At that Minerva found her outraged voice. "A week? You can't be serious if you think a week's detention is worth another student's life!"

"It is not I who thinks so, Minerva. Our esteemed Headmaster decided on that particular equivalency for the crime in question. Oh yes, before I forget the best part . . . Mr. Potter WILL swear he will not speak of this ever again, not to Mr. Malfoy, nor to any other soul, especially not to his little friends."

He knew he shouldn't be taking so much pleasure in her outrage but he was rather looking forward to telling her the next part. "And Minerva, if he chooses, in his arrogance, to break that oath and speak of this prank, he will be summarily expelled."

Severus turned to Albus who had sat uncharacteristically silent through their confrontation. "If you will excuse me, Headmaster, I'll go inform Mr. Malfoy of the details of his detention." With a slight bow to both colleagues and a small smirk to Minerva, Severus exited the Headmaster's office in a swirl of black.

Her target of choice gone, Minerva turned her anger towards Dumbledore. "Albus, you can't seriously be expecting this . . . this travesty of justice to stand. No amount of favoritism is worth another student's life."

Minerva was so agitated she failed to see the sorrow that crossed Dumbledore's face at her words. She did however catch the weariness when he sighed, "Please sit down, Minerva."

She, however, was too angry to sit and continued to stand, her back stiff with indignation.

"So fierce you are when one of your cubs is threatened," Albus said, smiling affectionately. The smile slowly twisted into something Minerva couldn't identify. "Minerva, please sit. There is . . ." He trailed off for a moment and then began again, "I have much to explain to you."

The weariness in Albus' soft voice finally caught Minerva's attention. Slowly the rigid line of her back relaxed. Taking a seat across from the Headmaster, she leaned back into the soft cushions of the chair. Her eyes, however, stayed flint sharp and never left Albus' face. "So talk to me."

"While I understand your desires to have young Mr. Malfoy removed, I can not allow it. Hogwarts and I walk a precarious line with the Ministry, as well you know. Even after today's prank, Severus believes that Mr. Malfoy is still undecided where his true loyalties lie."

"I do not see, Albus, how the remote possibility of Draco Malfoy's redemption earns him the right of protection of you or this school from his crimes. There is obviously more to this than you are saying. As your Deputy, I have supported you and your decisions, Albus, for many years. However, I will not support students endangering the lives of others. No matter how much Severus seems to think this topic is over –"

Albus cut her off, his own voice hard. "It is over, Minerva." She was shocked at the steely tone of his voice and the hard blue of eyes. She'd known for years that there was more to the Headmaster than his eccentric, grandfatherly persona, yet, as always, it surprised her when the she caught a glimpse of the wizard who was considered to be the most powerful in the Wizarding World.

He'd shocked her into complete silence. She blinked at him, stunned. Then just as quickly, the hard light in his eyes was gone and powerful wizard was replaced once again with slightly dotty old man. The swiftness of the change left her feeling a bit breathless.

"Forgive me. You are right. There is more to the situation. Severus has his reasons for expecting my . . . assistance, if you will, in this matter. I will try to explain but to fully understand you have to realize that this story begins before Tom's original rise to power, during the days when he was just making a name for himself within the pureblood circles. Tom was growing in power, and I knew that within a few years he would become the biggest threat our world had faced since Grindelwald. Even in those early years, I could see what he was becoming. Unfortunately, no one else wanted to believe me. Those beliefs, those thoughts, had a great influence over much of what happened. You have to keep that in mind as I explain what occurred in order to understand my thinking at the time."

Minerva watched Albus pause then rub a finger against the side of his long, crooked nose. She was disturbed to see faint tremors marring the steadiness of his hand. Whatever Albus was confessing to still had the power to distress him even after all these years. She was still angry and still wanted her answers, but felt the need to offer comfort to this man who had been part of her life in varying capacities for most of her life.

"I'm sure, Albus, that whatever your thoughts at the time, they were the right ones. You have always done your best to look after the Wizarding World's best interests."

His answer, when it came, only served to deepen her growing sense of disquiet.

"Oh my dear, I wish I could believe that. I helped set in motion the very events I was working so hard to stop." He trailed off for a moment, his eyes going vague as if he were watching some long ago memory. "So many things I would have done differently," he murmured quietly. "So many mistakes." 

The Headmaster gave his head a small shake and his eyes once again focused on the present, though the trace of sadness she heard in his voice remained. "Forgive an old man for rambling. It has been a long time since last I remembered these things."

With small sigh he began again. "I knew what was coming, you see, and even in those days I was beginning to prepare. I've long known that no matter how hard you try to protect children from the evils of the world, it is impossible. I knew that eventually, the children within my care would become the fighters in the coming war. That began my first mistake, for I cared for some children more than others."

The disquiet Minerva had felt before returned in force. She knew where this was leading, or at least she thought she did. "You speak of James, Sirius, Peter and Remus."

Albus nodded. "Yes. They were bright and strong and brave. I knew they would be vital to what was coming. I needed them and others like them."

"But those four were special to you."

A fond smile of remembrance crossed the Headmaster's face. "Yes, they were special. You remember them, Minerva, their friendships were so strong, their dreams so bright."

Minerva could hear the affection in Albus' voice even now after all these years, even when all but Remus was dead and Peter lost to the forces of darkness. Then she remembered that this was supposed to be an explanation concerning the dealings between Gryffindor and Slytherin.

"And they were Gryffindors," she added.

"Yes, as Severus says, my own Gryffindor bias." The words were no sooner said than Albus abruptly stood, asking, "Would you like some tea?" He turned away before she could even answer.

Minerva could only blink at him in confusion. This nervousness was something she had never before witnessed in her old friend. She was more certain than ever that there was more to this story and if allowing Albus to relieve some of his tension would ease the telling, she was patient enough to give him a moment to collection himself. "Yes, Albus, a cup of tea would be lovely. Thank you."

She watched him putter with the tea set that sat in the corner of his office. He did not ask her but fixed her tea in the way she liked it – two lumps of sugar and a slice of lemon. His reprieve only lasted so long though as she pinned him with a steady gaze as he returned to his desk after handing her the cup. "Enough stalling, Albus," she said, though her usual no-nonsense tones were mixed with gentleness. "I've known you too long. You have something to say that you know I'm not going to like. I already do not like this situation. I can't see how it will get much worse."

Toying with the spoon he'd used to stir his tea, Albus settled back into his chair. "You know me too well, Minerva. I should probably begin by saying that I owe you an apology. There were things happening at that time that I should have told you about, or at least consulted you on. My only excuse is that I thought I knew best pure arrogance on my part, really; a mistake that I seem to have not learned from, as Harry's current anger and erosion of faith in me can attest to."

"I let the thought that I knew best and my biases lead my decisions. I let Remus Lupin into the school as a student. I made that decision on my own. I didn't tell you as his Head of House, nor did I tell the other teachers. Remus and I worked out what I believed was a workable solution that allowed him the opportunity to have his education and come out of the solitary life he'd lived to that point. It allowed him to make friends with others his age, while still protecting the safety of the student population".

Minerva took a sip of her tea before replying. "Forgive me Albus, but this is nothing I don't already know. I know you set Remus up in the Shrieking Shack. Although if you are looking for the truth of my feelings, when it came out later about Remus' condition, I was very angry with you for not telling me in the first place."

"I remember, my dear. You are a woman of fine temper. It is not something easily forgotten especially since you turned all my socks into cockroaches." His expression of wry amusement turned to something more sober. "I suspect I will once again be losing my socks once you've heard the rest of what I have to tell you. At the time, I can only say that I was concerned about the secrecy. You were new to the position of Head of Gryffindor and were just settling in the post. You had other things to deal with, though that is hardly a proper excuse. What I did, should not have been done without your knowledge."

Albus fell silent for a moment. "You were aware that during that time James and the others targeted Severus with their pranks?"

Minerva nodded at this seemingly sudden shift although she didn't quite follow the sudden change of direction in the conversation. "I remember. No matter what I told them or what punishments were handed out, the animosity between them never abated. I also remember Severus throwing as many hexes as did Sirius or James. Though truth be told, I always thought the odds of four to one unfair, but Severus seemed to hold his own. I know he never once complained or asked for assistance in stopping them, though I did my best to divert them."

Wrinkling her brow for a moment, Minerva thought back to those times. Finally, she said, "It always seemed to me that their hatred intensified in the middle of their years here."

"Perceptive as always, my dear. The relationship went far beyond schoolboy dislike during their sixth year." The Headmaster paused, searching for the words to say what needed to be said. "That was the year Sirius attempted to kill Severus using Remus as his agent of destruction."

Minerva shot straight up in her chair. "What?"

"In Sirius' defense, I didn't believe then, nor do I believe now that Sirius had the intention of killing Severus, an opinion that Severus has never shared. Truly, I don't think Sirius thought through the consequences of what he was doing or the lasting harm that would come from his actions. His were the actions of a spoiled, arrogant boy. My own actions can not be so easily explained away, though arrogance does seem to be involved."

Minerva was beginning to get an idea of how this story related to what had happened earlier today between Draco and Harry, as well as Severus' reactions. "What happened?"

"In a nutshell, Sirius used Severus' own weaknesses against him. He broke a promise by revealing the secret passage to the Shrieking Shack. He then gave Severus just enough information that Severus could not refuse to attempt to go through the passageway to discover the secrets he knew they were concealing."

Minerva was horrified. "Albus, are you telling me that Sirius sent Severus to Remus while he was transformed into a werewolf?"

"Yes. And if James had not gotten the information out of Sirius in time and pulled Severus from danger at the last minute, Remus would have at worst killed Severus and at best turned him into a werewolf as well."

"I told Severus earlier that it was completely unacceptable for one student to intentionally threaten the life of another." Minerva was now looking at Albus like she'd never seen him before. "It was acceptable wasn't it, Albus?"

"Unfortunately, it was both acceptable and necessary, or so I believed at the time. When the . . . incident happened, I panicked. I had allowed Remus, a werewolf, into the school. I knew the boys became animagi and ran with Remus when he was transformed, although they were unaware I knew. I'd known and allowed them to oversee the transformations. At the time, my reasoning was that I was providing the beginnings of the responsibilities that I knew the coming war would be thrusting on them."

"Then there was Sirius. He was the first male of the House of Black in eight generations that hadn't been sorted into Slytherin. I saw the good his friendship with the others did for him. They were helping him to become the person I knew he could be. More of my own Gryffindor bias again. Slytherin wasn't good enough. I was saving him, you see, and then he set Severus up. I was afraid that if expelled he'd be lost to the hate and bitterness and that all the good that had been done would be undone. I was afraid I'd lose him to Tom's growing popularity."

"I also had my own position to consider. I'd made a mistake with Remus and now Sirius had almost killed another student. There would have been a Ministry inquiry. I could have easily have been removed as Headmaster. With everything I saw coming in regards to Tom, I couldn't take the chance. I couldn't lose Hogwarts and I couldn't lose the access to the children I would someday need."

"So you sacrificed Severus instead."

Albus could hear the hard accusation in her voice. It was no more than expected. "Yes, and to my shame, I thought it no great loss at the time a disservice to him that I've never forgotten and which he has never let me forget. I transferred my own fear, my anger and disappointment with Sirius to Severus; convinced myself that Severus was somehow at fault. That he shouldn't have been sticking his nose into something that didn't concern him, that he shouldn't have been eavesdropping, that he'd goaded Sirius into retaliation, that –"

"That he'd asked for it."

Albus lowered his face down into his hands. "Yes, I blamed the victim for the attack."

"What about the other things Severus said tonight . . . about Malfoy's lack of punishment and Harry having to be silent?"

Lifting his graying head, Albus fidgeted a bit with some loose rolls of paper on his desk before answering. "All true. Peter was not involved in this instance. I never believed James was in on the prank and Remus was as much of a victim as Severus. I gave Sirius a week's detention with Filch and made Severus swear he would not talk about what had occurred."

Meeting Minerva's eyes, Albus flinched at the anger simmering in their depths.

"Are you telling me, Albus Dumbledore, that you told a traumatized boy who'd just had a most terrifying brush with death that he . . . that, good gods, Albus. Regardless of your intentions or your goals, you basically told Severus that his life wasn't worth the effort and then refused to allow him to talk about it. No wonder he leaked the information when Remus was a professor. It wasn't about Remus being a werewolf. It was never just that."

"I have made mistakes that I cannot change. All I can say is at the time I needed to protect –"

Minerva cut him off, her lips thinned in disapproval. "Protect? You protected yourself and Sirius. Who protected Severus?"

Several floors away Hermione Granger, friend of Harry Potter, and resident Gryffindor Brain, was standing in absolute shock, staring at a slowly whirling brass contraption nestled snuggly within a hollow niche in the library wall.

She hadn't meant to find the device. It wasn't even like she had been deliberately snooping. It had after all been an accident the top book on her stack had started to slide and in her attempt to catch it she'd stumbled into the wall knocking into a heavy ornamental shield. Surprisingly the Hufflepuff crested shield hadn't fallen from the wall but had slid to the side revealing a compartment behind it. Professor Snape wouldn't see it as an accident. Would Dumbledore? She wasn't even sure the other teachers knew about the device. And if it existed, there were probably others that existed too.

The contraption itself had been enough to pique her innate curiosity; within seconds the rest of her books had joined the first on the flagstone floor. The polished brass surface had reflected her distorted image back to her. Without the block of the heavy shield, she could hear a faint whirling sound from the cup-shaped blades that spun around its top. She'd stood no chance when she realized that the thing had buttons. Could you make a defense against being expelled based on the inescapable lure of button pushing? Surely the Headmaster wouldn't hold it against her that pushing the small purple button turned what was obviously in hindsight a listening device into a receiving device, a receiving device that was working very well indeed. A device, a small, terrified voice in the back of head added, that was currently filling her in on a conversation between her professors.

Hermione attempted to squash the rising bubble of panic inside of her chest. She was so going to get expelled. This was bad. Very very very bad. Expelled. No doubt about it. But she didn't stop listening. She didn't stop at Professor Snape's snide remarks. She didn't stop when Professor McGonagall questioned the Headmaster. She didn't stop during the Headmaster's explanation of events from long ago. Only when she'd heard the entire story did she reach out a trembling hand to press the small purple button again. Instantly the voices of her Professor and Headmaster cut off.

Very carefully she removed all traces that she had touched the device, making sure no fingerprint smudges marked the shiny brass or that any stray curly hairs had found their way into the niche. Just as carefully, she slid the heavy shield back into place. Gathering up her books, she made her way back to the table she'd claimed as hers.

Around Hermione the library was just as empty and quiet as when she'd entered. It remained unchanged; however, she couldn't say the same thing about herself. This time her curiosity had gotten her, for the first time in her life, knowledge she wasn't sure what to do with. She'd heard the story of the 'prank' from Sirius and Remus that night in the Shrieking Shack back at the end of her third year. Somehow, the brief explanation given then, didn't match up with the story she'd just heard. Sirius had been unrepentant. She remembered him making the comment that 'Snape had deserved it.' Even Professor Lupin, kind and gentle Remus, had made light of the experience and downplayed what had really happened that night so long ago.

What about what Professor Snape had done that night in the Shrieking Shack? He'd hated Sirius. He was wary of Remus. She remembered now that Snape had thought they were in danger. He wanted to capture Sirius but he'd also intended to protect them from what he thought was grave danger. He'd gone after them by himself into a situation where he was outnumbered. Slytherins didn't do that. Slytherins went for allies and brought reinforcements.

How much courage, she wondered, did it take for Professor Snape to climb alone into that tunnel under the Whomping Willow and come after them thinking that a murderer and a werewolf were waiting for him the same werewolf that had almost killed him in the same tunnel so many years before.

Thoughts of Snape led to thoughts of Dumbledore. She'd known by the end of her 5th year that the adults around her were human and fallible. It had been a hard lesson to learn, and her worldview was still shifting to accommodate that knowledge. Now, she had two new variables that were tilting her world. Albus Dumbledore wasn't omnipotent. She'd already known that, but she hadn't really known it. She'd suspected that both the House Elves and the pictures reported directly to the Headmaster; however, she'd never suspected that the students were spied on directly. The whirling brass contraption gave lie to that idea. It was no wonder Dumbledore always seemed to know what she and the others were up to. He had the ability to listen in directly. She had no doubt that the school was filled with these listening devices.

As the minutes passed and her swirling thoughts slowed, it wasn't the realization of the spying and observation that shook her. Intellectually she understood the necessity of that. There was no way a dozen or so teachers could keep order in a school of several hundred magically gifted students without some kind of assistance, magical or otherwise.

No, what stunned her was the burning anger that filled her at the thought of the injustice done to one teenaged Severus Snape. She was indignant, positively incensed. She was angry on Professor's Snape's behalf for an incident that took place before she was even born. Even recognizing the absurdity of the situation didn't change the fact that for the first time in her long history of respecting her teachers, she really wanted to march up to the Headmaster's office and punch him in his long, crooked nose. She was angrier now than when she'd discovered the House elves. She had finally come to accept that the elves took pride and joy in their service. She still thought that the wizarding world took advantage of their need to serve but she could only give the elves an option she couldn't force them all into clothes no matter how much she wanted too.

The injustice she saw here made her just as angry. She wanted to do something. She wanted to protest. She wanted to picket the Headmaster's office. She wanted to make buttons and charge everyone a Galleon. She suspected that Professor Snape would be just as unappreciative of her actions as the house elves had been.

Unfortunately, she just couldn't seem to let it go.

End Chapter 1


	2. Ch 2 Reconnaissance

Chapter 2 - Reconnaissance

Hermione was still fuming and thinking about the conversation she'd overheard as she made her way slowly back up to the Gryffindor rooms. She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she paid little attention to the castle around her. The pictures, however, noticed her distraction and whispered comments to each other on her inattentiveness. They were used to seeing the Gryffindor girl striding purposefully no matter where she was off to, head held high and determination in her steps. Now she wandered, almost aimlessly, her head down and her steps guided more from autopilot than any true will of her own. More than one painting also commented on the ferocious scowl that marked her features.

Not only the pictures, but the castle itself seemed to notice her internal preoccupation since the stairs, instead of letting her step out into empty air, turned and formed themselves into correct alignment to get her safely back to her dorm with the least amount of backtracking or fuss.

"Password, dear?"

"Wha-?" Hermione raised her head to find herself outside the portrait door to Gryffindor Tower with no clear idea of how she'd gotten there.

The Fat Lady, long used to dealing with distracted teenagers, and having been alerted to the girl's unfocused state by the other paintings simply repeated her question.

Hermione flushed a bit at being caught in her mental wanderings but gave the password with only a semi-forced smile. "Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble." As she crawled through the door, she had to wonder if Professor McGonagall hadn't been reading Shakespeare when she chose this week's particular password.

The common room was its usual noisy, crowded, controlled bit of chaos. Gryffindors, by nature, seemed to be the loudest House of the four. And while the noise and chaos could get on her nerves on occasion, Hermione had to admit that it was just the thing to pull a person out of too deep thoughts. She was ready to admit that when it came to what she'd overheard; her thoughts were very deep indeed.

Spotting Harry and Ron across the room engaged in a battle of Wizard's Chess, she crossed the room, threading her way past several groups of students, younger and older, that were scattered around the room. Snippets of conversations reached her as she passed each one.

" . . . eight uses of Nightshade? He's nuts. I can only find five uses of Nightshade. I tell you, Snape must be making up those extra three uses . . ."

" . . . are the Chudley Cannons going to pull it off this season, especially with O'Reilly sidelined?"

"Snape gave me detention with Filch for tomorrow night . . . "

"I love that color on your nails. Can you show me the charm you . . ."

". . . did you hear that he made a first year Hufflepuff cry today . . ."

The walk back to the tower had calmed her initial burst of anger, but she could still feel it bubbling just below the surface. Now, each repetition of Professor Snape's name jabbed at her Gryffindor sense of justice, demanding she do something.

Intent on the game before them, Ron and Harry only glanced at her as she joined them at their table. She settled herself into a comfortably squashy side chair, its Gryffindor red upholstery worn along the tops of the arm rests from countless students over the years. She was rather glad of the boys' distraction. She had too much on her mind to be good company this evening, so she scrunched down into the chair and turned her thoughts back to the conversation she shouldn't have heard.

Harry finally looked up with a strained grimace on his face as one of Ron's bishops decapitated one of his pawns. Catching Hermione's eye, he pulled her out of her thoughts. "Tell me you've come to rescue me from this unfair slaughter?"

As Harry had only ever won one game against Ron, and that was the day that Ron was sick, running a fever and half delirious, Hermione wasn't exactly overflowing with sympathy. "Harry, if you know you're going to lose, why do you persist in playing him?"

Harry shrugged good-naturedly. "Hope springs eternal, I guess. I always think this time I'm going to trounce the redheaded blighter."

The redheaded blighter in question sat up straight with an indignant, "Hey!"

Harry grinned unrepentantly back at his friend.

Turning up his nose in Harry's direction, Ron swiveled to face Hermione. "So, did you get all your library research done? You promised you'd get out of the castle and go to Hogsmeade with us tomorrow if you finished. Besides, it's going to be a real celebration what with the Ferret getting expelled for almost killing Harry." Ron's grin was wide and toothy with anticipation. "Do you think Dumbledore will make an announcement?" The sharky grin got even wider and his eyes twinkled in an unholy imitation of the Headmaster's. "Ohh, maybe they'll escort Malfoy through the Great Hall and out the front door in front of the whole school?"

Harry matched Ron's grin of delight. "Naaah, I think Malfoy will just slink away in the night like the slimy little snake he is. But, you have to feel sorry for Crabbe and Goyle with Malfoy gone; they won't have anyone to do their thinking for them."

Hermione opened her mouth to tell her friends that Malfoy wouldn't be leaving, but nothing came out. She couldn't seem to say anything. If she told Ron and Harry, they would want to know how she knew and for some reason she couldn't breach Snape's privacy like that. It felt wrong, like kicking someone when they were already down. It didn't matter in the end anyway, she reasoned, they'd find out soon enough that Malfoy wouldn't be going anywhere.

Hermione was also reluctant to share the knowledge of the listening device she'd found. Harry was no longer sunk into the deep depression that Sirius Black's death had thrown him into, but even now little things had a way of setting him off into either anger or misery. The Christmas holidays a few weeks earlier had been hell on all of them as Harry had alternately turned inward and struck out at his friends. She didn't think that Harry would handle the additional knowledge of being spied on well, even though the spying device wasn't meant specifically for him. He would view it as one more strike against the adults that were trying to both protect him and ensure that he had the necessary knowledge and abilities to defeat Voldemort when the time came.

"So, Hermione, Hogsmeade?" Ron asked again.

It's for the best, she thought, while trying not to think about the fact that she was keeping a very large secret from her two best friends.

"Sure," she answered, forcing a smile for their benefit. Feeling decidedly uncomfortable about keeping secrets from her friends, Hermione decided to retreat to her room before she was forced to actually tell any lies rather than just withholding the truth. Standing up, Hermione gathered up the books she'd originally gone to the library to get. "I'll meet you guys in the Great Hall for breakfast and we can head out to Hogsmeade together. Good-night."

With distracted "good-nights" the boys turned back to their game and Hermione headed for the girls' dormitory.

Staring up into the shadowed folds of her canopy, Hermione listened to the soft snores of Lavender in the bed across from her. She'd given up trying to sleep over an hour ago. She'd learned a long time ago that when her mind was filled with questions, sleep was the first thing to desert her. Tonight she just couldn't seem to shake her lose from thoughts about Professor Snape and the overheard conversation. She wasn't exactly sure why she was so angry on his behalf, but there was just something about the circumstances of what was done to him, of the assumptions made about the characters of young Sirius, James, and Professor Snape, that rankled deep inside her. It was that same sense of outrage that had made her start SPEW, an outrage that made her decide that since no one else would stand up for the house elves, she would.

Sitting up in the dark, she released some of her pent-up frustration, punching her pillow into a more comfortable shape before lying back down on her side. Reaching out in the dark, she rubbed her fingers through Crookshanks' warm fur. It was the same feeling that had led her to choose the ginger-haired tom that day in Diagon Alley at the Magical Menagerie. Crookshanks had been a fur-matted monster with an ugly, squashed face and a hissing, biting temperament that caused all other shoppers at the store to pass him by time after time. No one else had wanted the half-Kneazle. Hermione had taken one look at him and hadn't even hesitated.

She rubbed one silky ear, until a slumbering Crooks flicked it out of her grasp. She'd seen something else in the cat that day. She'd given him a chance and he'd proved his worth time and again since that day she'd bought him.

So what about Professor Snape? Hermione smiled in the dark at the image of her Potions professor as a hissing, ugly, mangy, blacked-furred Kneazle. The analogy was too simple though. She knew that. Professor Snape was entirely too complicated a man to be put into a box entitled 'Reminds me of my cat and house elves' and yet he did. 

She'd never really given Professor Snape much serious thought. He had a nice, neat label in her mind Teacher, Nasty, Approach with Caution, Dumbledore Trusts Him. That label defined him and her interactions with him, but she'd always dealt with him on a superficial level. Now she wanted to dig deeper. Of course, what she was contemplating now was foolish, the kind of foolishness that generally gave Gryffindors their leap-before-you-look reputations. She just couldn't seem to let the idea of Professor Snape go. She needed more information, the kind of information you couldn't find reading a book. She needed information from hands-on research and the only way to get that was to spying on Professor Snape. Spying on the spy. She could think of few things more dangerous to an overly curious student than stalking that most dangerous of Hogwarts' teachers, the decidedly deadly Head of Slytherin.

Yet regardless of her apprehension, she had questions and Hermione Granger was never one to turn away from the unanswered question. She'd seen something beyond servitude in the elves and beyond ill temperament in Crookshanks. If she really looked, what would she see in Professor Snape?  
For all that Hermione had gotten very little sleep the night before, she still beat both boys down to the Great Hall in the morning. She wasn't upset though since it gave her a few quiet minutes to observe the Head Table in peace. In keeping with her thoughts the previous night, Hermione moved around the Gryffindor table, sitting across from her usual seat to eat breakfast this morning. Her new vantage point would allow her to watch the teachers without having to crane her neck around to watch; an exercise she felt sure Professor Snape would notice. 

Keeping her head down and nibbling on a piece of toast she studied the Head Table from under her lashes. She was somewhat surprised to see Professor McGonagall wearing the pinched look of disapproval that Hermione associated with an angry House Head. She would have thought that the headmaster and the assistant headmistress would have settled their differences. However, the stiff-necked way the Transfiguration mistress sat beside the headmaster indicated that whatever else had been said last night after Hermione stopped listening, it was obvious that Professor McGonagall was still angry. For a moment Hermione wished she could see beneath the teachers' table to see if the headmaster was wearing socks. Given that look, she somehow doubted it.

Sliding her gaze down the table, she focused on where Snape sat picking listlessly at his meal. Trying hard not to view the man through the lens of 'feared Potions master,' Hermione tried to see him objectively. The picture coming into view before her was rather startling. The man she normally associated with tightly controlled power was sitting dull and listless. He looked tired with faint shadowed smudges deepening the set of his eyes. His sallow skin had an unhealthy cast to it. She'd always just dismissed his look as too much time locked away in the dungeons away from the sun, but looking at him now, he looked almost sick, as if he'd not had a good nights sleep or eaten well in a long time.

Hermione wasn't sure how long she gazed at him, but it wasn't long before his eyes snapped up to scan the Great Hall. Dropping her eyes, she concentrated on buttering another piece of toast. Only when that task was done did she risk raising her eyes again. As before, it didn't take long for him to sense someone watching him. This time Professor Snape's scan of the Hall happened even faster, so fast in fact that he caught her in his gaze, a sneer of what she was sure was contempt curling his upper lip into a silent snarl.

"Oy, Hermione!"

Ron's loud greeting broke the connection between Hermione and Professor Snape. She lowered her gaze back to her breakfast, however the damage had already been done for the day. Her professor would be wary now; she was going to have to be sneakier if she was going to avoid his suspicions.

Deciding to ignore her enigmatic professor for the time being she turned her attention to Ron and Harry as they seated themselves across from her. Ron wasted no time in heaping eggs and bacon onto his plate while Harry reached for the pumpkin juice.

Halfway through breakfast, while Ron debated on whether he needed one or two more rashers of bacon, Hermione realized that she'd learned something important during her first foray as a stalker. Snape was, for a lack of a better term, extremely high strung. He was like a thoroughbred racehorse, wound up so tight that he was sensitive to the least little thing. The man seemed to have an uncanny sense of when he was being watched. That he'd been able to tell that one student out of a three hundred had been focused on him said a lot about his level of paranoia, his sensitivity, and the power of his magic. It was rather unnerving.

It was like living under the pressure of NEWTs week all the time with no relief. It was no wonder he was always snapping and biting students' heads off. If she carried that much tension around her all the time, she'd probably snap as well. 

While Hermione remained lost in her thoughts, the boys continued their breakfast, talking about what they wanted from their anticipated stop at Honeydukes. As Ron finished his last bit of bacon, Professor McGonagall came up from behind Harry. "Mr. Potter, if you will come with me please."

Ron made as if to get up out of his seat as well but stopped halfway up at Professor McGonagall's next words. "Not you, Mr. Weasley." Exchanging a semi-worried glance with Ron and Hermione, Harry headed off behind the briskly moving professor.

Ron settled back down after throwing a worried glance towards Harry's retreating form. "What do you suppose that's about? The professor didn't look too happy."

"I'm sure Harry will tell us when he gets back," Hermione answered. "It's probably just something about class." Hermione winced inwardly at her words. She had a good idea of why Professor McGonagall wanted to speak with Harry alone and knew it wasn't going to go over well.

That expectation was confirmed when Harry swept back into the Great Hall with a furious expression on his face, the air around him fairly crackling with barely controlled magic.

"Harry, what-?"

"Not here," Harry snarled, cutting Ron off. Narrowing angry green eyes at the faces turned curiously in their direction, he grabbed up his and Ron's cloaks, thrusting the heavy black fabric into his friend's arms. "Let's go!"

Hermione scrambled to get her winter cloak around her before Harry, with Ron trailing behind him, headed back towards the door.

Harry's swift, angry strides took them out onto the grounds at an almost run. Only once past the gates of Hogwarts did his pace slow to a more measured walk and the aura of emotionally fueled, uncontrolled magic hovering around him settle down.

Ron decided that was his cue to start the questioning, as usual, getting straight to the point. "What happened, mate?"

"They aren't expelling him." There was no need to explain to whom Harry was referring.

"Impossible! They have to expel him."

"Oh, no they don't. They don't have to do anything." Harry raised his pitch to imitate Professor McGonagall. "You have to understand our position, Mr. Potter. We have to tread carefully right now, Mr. Potter. I'm sure that Mr. Malfoy only meant to play a prank, Mr. Potter." Harry dropped the falsetto to return to his own voice. "A prank! McGonagall and Dumbledore want me to believe this was all a harmless prank."

Ron's temper joined with Harry's. "Are you kidding? Malfoy tried to brain you. How could they even think about letting him stay?"

Harry had stopped walking forward now and taken to pacing in a tight circle around Hermione and Ron, Hermione turning on her heel so that Harry always remained in front of her.

"Oh, it gets even better," Harry said. "Not only does the so-called Prince of Slytherin stay, but I can't talk about it. No one who wasn't already there is to know. How am I supposed to save the world from Voldemort if Malfoy 'accidentally' kills me first?"

It was a mark of how angry Ron was that he didn't even flinch at Harry's use of the dark wizard's name. "This is well insane."

Even knowing it was a losing battle; Hermione stepped into her role as the voice of reason. "Harry, the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall were right. They have to look at the larger picture. They can't afford to make a stand now and draw attention to Hogwarts." Hermione dropped her voice down to a harsh whisper. "Not to mention, sending Malfoy away from the school could put Professor Snape's life in danger. V-Voldemort would punish the professor for not protecting Malfoy. You know he would."

Harry's eyes were hard and unforgiving. "Then the great bat would get what he deserves. He joined the Death Eaters. Let him reap what he bloody well sowed."

Hermione drew back in shock. Over Harry's left shoulder she could see that even Ron's face reflected a degree of uneasiness at his friend's words.

Hermione's face flushed as her anger rose. Her own troubled thoughts and feelings concerning Professor Snape came forth in her words. "You arrogant, sanctimonious prat! Professor Snape made a mistake when he was 18 years old. It was a big mistake, I'll grant you, but a mistake he's been trying to fix ever since. He's done nothing but try to protect all three of us time and again. We might not like his methods, but we are all three still alive." She remembered the comment about Malfoy still being redeemable and added, "We also don't know the Headmaster and Professor Snape's ultimate plans, having Malfoy at the school could be important. And Dumbledore didn't expel Sirius when he almost killed Professor Snape during a prank. Is it only Gryffindors who get special treatment?" Hermione didn't know why she said that last bit but knew the words were wrong even as they left her mouth as Harry's face went white and then blood red.

"This," Harry hissed, "is nothing like that. Sirius pulled a prank on a nosy Snape. Malfoy tried to kill me."

"But-" Hermione stopped when it became clear that Harry wasn't listening anymore. Her anger drained away leaving an odd sadness. The cycle started 20 years ago was beginning again.

Harry wasn't done though. "You are right about one thing. There is something in common. Snape is at fault."

"Harry!"

As Harry rounded on her, Hermione stepped back, suddenly afraid of the expression of her friend's face. "He had something to do with this. He isn't to be trusted and this proves it. And you know what, Hermione; I'm tired of you defending him. That bastard isn't worth anyone defending him."

With those last words, Harry spun around and started walking towards Hogsmeade. Hermione found herself rooted to the spot, Harry's last words still ringing in her ears. Ron cast desperate glances between Hermione and Harry's rapidly retreating back, unsure of what he should do.

Feeling very tired suddenly, Hermione looked at Ron as she tilted her head in Harry's direction. "Go on, catch up with him. Talk to him . . . calm him down." She made a vague, helpless gesture with her hands. "Do what you can. I'll go back to the castle."

Ron stared hard at her for a long moment before nodding. Spinning on his heel he took off after Harry.

The walk back to the castle was a cold one, January winds whipping around her cloak and tangling her hair into knots that would take her hours later to work through. Colder than the winds though were Harry's last words.

That bastard isn't worth anyone defending him.

Was that really true? Didn't everyone deserve to have someone on his or her side? Someone to keep watch while they slept? Someone to worry about them? Her face twisted into a scowl at her next thought even Voldemort had Pettigrew.

End Chapter 2


	3. Ch 3 Do I or Don't I?

Chapter 3 – Do I or Don't I?

Thoughts on Professor Snape kept her company over the next several days. Days in which Harry still wasn't speaking to her and Ron bounced between being caught up in Harry's righteous anger and feeling sympathy for Hermione's estrangement from their little circle. Ron was doing what Ron did best. He was supporting Harry, giving him an ear and solid presence that Harry needed. Yet in his own way Ron was doing his best to support her as well, acting as a buffer between her and Harry until they could get their friendship back on its usual even keel.

Only that remaining connection to Ron saved Hermione from sinking into the crying mess she'd become her third year when both Harry and Ron had excluded her from their friendship. Now, like then, she'd searched for something to occupy her mind with. Then she'd had extra classes and researching Buckbeak's defense for Hagrid. Now she had Snape stalking.

Of course, the more she watched Professor Snape the more she wondered if her estrangement from Harry was worth it. She could understand Harry and Ron's dislike of the professor. He was an easy man to see in shades of absolute black and white, a tendency of view that the professor seemed to encourage.

Hermione wasn't stupid. With the knowledge that she possessed about Professor Snape's true loyalties and 'extracurricular' activities, it was no great leap in logic to come to the conclusion that much of Professor Snape's behavior was a carefully crafted and maintained smoke screen. He was like a Muggle magician keeping everyone focused on his outward appearance and less than likeable personality while totally distracting the casual observer from noticing the very dangerous intelligence that gleamed behind his eyes.

She liked to think of herself as something other than a casual observer because she was starting to catch glimpses of the man behind the smoke, and everything she'd seen increased her conviction that Professor Snape was in need of someone to stand in his corner.

And yet . . . and yet, he wasn't a house-elf. He wasn't a half-Kneazle in need of a home. He was a grown man and a powerful wizard and from her observations she suspected that the persona of 'Evil Potions master' wasn't all that far from the truth of who and what Severus Snape really was.

Harry's assertion that Snape didn't deserve to be defended was wrong. She knew it with a deep certainly. Hermione's doubts, however, were centered on another question: was Professor Snape her responsibility? He was worth being protected but was he worth the risk of losing her two best friends? She wasn't the isolated outsider that she'd been as a Muggle-born first year. She had other friends and acquaintances in her own House and in Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff now. But Harry and Ron were special. Were her convictions strong enough to keep her when Harry turned away from her? And Ron, right now he was doing his best to still stay by her, but she knew Ron. Eventually Ron would drift away and she'd be alone.

Even if she decided to make her stand, what could she do? Professor Snape wouldn't appreciate buttons or Snape Club dues. There would be no newsletters or impassioned speeches in the Great Hall about how Professor Snape was really just some misunderstood, Heathcliff-type hero who was risking his life to help the Order overthrow the evil plans of the Dark Lord.

Hermione looked up at the High Table. Professor Snape was once again picking at his food in a moody silence, a habit that Hermione had become very familiar with. In the time she'd been watching him, she'd never once seen him actually eat an entire meal. When she saw him start to tense up, she redirected her gaze back down to the Gryffindor Table. Ron and Harry had started sitting several seats down from her with Dean and Seamus. They were currently laughing and joking about something. Seamus seemed to be trying to flip peas into Ron's pumpkin juice whenever Ron looked away. They were having a good time. 

Hermione sighed. She couldn't say she was having a good time.

"I would rethink that decision, Longbottom."

At that quietly issued command, Hermione froze momentarily, her hand partway raised to add the fluxweed seeds to her potion. A second later she continued the motion, dropping the seeds in a steady stream into the bubbling mixture before her.

Keeping her head down, Hermione glanced over to where Professor Snape stood glowering down on a hapless Neville. She sucked in a short breath when she recognized the narrow, saw-toothed edged leaves clutched in Neville's shaking, white-knuckled grip. Fluxweed leaves, not seeds. Oh Neville.

"Longbottom, do you know what would have happened had you added those fluxweed leaves?"

Hermione winced as Professor Snape emphasized the word _leaves_ in a sibilant verbal caress that had the hair standing up on the back of her neck. Off to her side she could hear the excited whispering of the Slytherins on the other side of the room while behind her she could hear the nervous shuffling of Ron's feet. She didn't need to look around to know that everyone's eyes were focused on the drama about to unfold.

"Does anyone in this class of supposedly academically superior students know what will happen to this particular potion if fluxweed leaves are added at this juncture of the brewing?"

Hermione tilted her head, her mind running over the various ingredients used so far. Just as she got to the asphodel she sucked in a startled breath in realization, her head snapping up to look into Neville's wide, terrified gaze. Not wanting to open her mouth and draw attention to herself, Hermione still found herself unable not to answer to the question asked of the class. Eyes still trapped in Neville's panicked gaze, she slowly raised her hand.

"Ah, it would seem that Miss Granger has worked out the problem. How typical. Well, Miss Granger, do enlighten us as to the issue at hand."

"Poisonous gas, sir. The fluxweed leaves would have combined with the asphodel and the mistletoe berries to create a poisonous gas. The entire c-class," she stumbled slightly over the word before continuing, "would have died within 30 minutes."

"Very good, Miss Granger. Two points to Gryffindor."

Hermione heard snickering from the Slytherin side of the room at Professor Snape's generosity with the house points. A piercing look from their House Head, though, and even that side of the room fell silent.

"A poisonous gas." He looked around the room catching the eyes of his students in his fierce gaze. "A poisonous gas that is colorless. A gas that, thankfully, is not odorless as well."

Turning back to Neville, Hermione watched as a small smile lifted one corner of Professors Snape's lips. It was a look that sent cold tendrils of fear snaking up her spine, fear that was confirmed by the professor's next words. "Drop the fluxweed leaves, Mr. Longbottom."

Neville, still shaking slightly from being the class' center of attention, moved his hand over to the surface of his scarred worktable. The professor stopped him before he could drop the leaves. "No, Mr. Longbottom. Release the leaves into your cauldron."

Hermione saw Neville go stark white in terror and heard Harry hiss, "Leave him alone," from behind her.

Snape didn't even turn around to face Harry as he snapped out, "Twenty points from Gryffindor, Potter, for speaking out of turn. Mr. Longbottom, I suggest you drop those leaves, NOW!"

Neville could no more disobey that tone in Professors Snape's voice than he could fly without a broom. Neville's hand jerked, his fingers splayed wide as a dozen slightly wilted fluxweed leaves tumbled into the swirling, bubbling cauldron.

The Slytherins, with Malfoy in the lead, were halfway to the door of the classroom before the leaves ever hit the potion's surface.

Just as Malfoy was reaching for the great brass handle of the doors, the sound of locks snapping into place echoed around the room. Someone near the door started whimpering as the smell of something sweet and cloying started to fill the room.

Professor Snape had finally flipped. He was going to kill them all.

Ignoring the rising babble of panic at the door of the classroom, Hermione pulled her wand and spun around in her chair to face Harry and Ron. "Use the Bubble-head Charm."

Hermione jumped as a heavy hand clamped down on her upraised hand, stopping the fluid movements needed for the charm. "Ten points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger, for interfering in my lesson." 

Professor Snape raised his voice to cut through the noise of the other students while his coal-black eyes swept the mass of students gathered at the classroom door. "The first person to use the Bubble-head Charm will spend the rest of the semester in detention with me."

Beginning to wheeze from the sweet scent eddying around her, Hermione looked at her fellow students in shock. None of them were lifting their wands. She couldn't believe they were more afraid of Professor Snape than they were of dying from poisonous gas.

Swinging her gaze back to her professor, she stared at him in horror, even as the invisible fumes from Neville's potion turned poison coated her tongue and the back of her throat with a taste and smell of a thousand rotting roses.

Very slowly, his left eyebrow rose in challenge, daring her to speak out again.

Neville Longbottom, his Gryffindor store of courage exhausted, took that opportunity to faint at Professors Snape's feet. Or, a slightly hysterical portion of Hermione's mind noted, he might have been done in by the gas.

Neville's collapse pushed Harry and Ron over the edge. With a snarl of, "You bastard!" Harry attempted to launch himself across the intervening worktables at Professor Snape's back, Ron close on the heels of his friend.

Both boys, however, forgot that they were dealing with a man who, while maybe not as powerful as Dumbledore, was dangerous all the same. To Hermione, it was like watching a horrible accident and being able to do nothing about it except watch in horrified fascination.

Just as Harry slid across his worktable, Professor Snape raised his hand, the one that firmly gripped Hermione's hand and wand. _"Funis Subnecto,"_ he hissed, while forcing Hermione's hand and wand in a short S-shaped forward movement. She felt the surge of the professor's magic as it was channeled from his hand through her wand and was horrified as she felt her own power rise up in answer to his, joining together to cast the spell that was aimed at her friends. Neither had the opportunity to evade as thin, snake-like cords shot out of her wand to wrap around Harry and Ron.

Within seconds Harry was pinned to the surface of the work-desk, the cords wrapping themselves around the desk legs to hold him tight. Ron was brought to his knees on the floor beside the desk, wrapped up so tight he resembled a corded cocoon.

Hermione turned stunned and horrified eyes back up to see a satisfied half-smile on her professor's face.

"Always wanted to do that," he murmured absently as if he spoke more to himself than to her.

Still keeping her hand clasped around her wand, Professor Snape turned toward the crowded mass of students with a muttered, "Mindless sheep."

Hermione was fairly sure she was the only one who heard the softly voiced comment. His next words though were pitched to carry across the room. "Mr. Bloodsaw."

"S-Sir?" Thomas Bloodsaw, a sixth year Ravenclaw managed to stammer.

"Tell me, Mr. Bloodsaw," Snape's demeanor and tone no different than if he was asking a question during one of his normal lectures, "what does fluxweed gas smell like?"

Thomas, Hermione noted, had a corner of his school robes pressed over his mouth and nose. His voice came out muffled from the cloth. "R-Rotten flowers, sir."

"Excellent. Five points to Ravenclaw."

"Mr. Malfoy, will you ever forget this smell?"

"No, sir." Malfoy's less timid answer was somewhat spoiled by the gagging, coughing fit that hit him as he drew his next breath. 

"Good! See that you never forget it."

Again using Hermione's wand, Professor Snape intoned "Evanesco" and the contents of Neville's cauldron as well as the sickly smelling gas disappeared. Another wave and the classroom doors opened on silent hinges. However, not a single student moved towards the door.

Sheep, indeed, she thought in something very close to disgust.

Snape must have thought the same because she heard again the faint huff of contemptuous amusement. "Out. All of you out. Report to Madam Pomfrey," Professor Snape said as he swept a cold gaze once more across the class. Abruptly he released Hermione's hand and wand. "Free your friends, wake up Longbottom and report to the Infirmary."

Spinning on his heel, he retreated back towards his office leaving Hermione staring in stunned amazement after him.

The topic of conversation throughout all of the Great Hall during the lunch hour predictably focused on Professor Snape. Most of the whispered conversations centered on whether the black bat of Hogwarts had finally cracked. More than one student stated that they'd known all along that Snape was insane and that trying to kill off his 6th year advanced Potions class was definitive proof.

Professor Snape's outrageous behavior even eclipsed Ron and Harry's aborted attempt at an attack on a professor. In fact, that was hardly given a passing mention. A development that Hermione, along with Harry and Ron, all felt was a great blessing.

In fact, the whole episode had rattled them all so that Harry had forgotten that he was currently mad at Hermione. Of course, the fact that the morning's incident seemed to bolster Harry's conviction that Snape was not to be trusted could have had something to do with his smug smile.

"Blimey! Did you see his eyes? He was enjoying himself. Completely off his rocker, he was," Ron said around a mouthful of roast beef sandwich. 

"He even forgot to give us detention," Harry added. This seemingly simple statement confirmed to the rest of the Gryffindor table that Snape had indeed lost it. The Great Bat did not miss out on any opportunity to give Gryffindors detentions.

The whole incident just confused Hermione. She felt betrayed. He'd tried to kill them. It still didn't sound real, even to her and she'd been there through the whole experience. Professor Snape had poisoned his entire class. Rumors were flying through the school. The man who held the title of 'Scariest Teacher in Hogwarts' History' had just grown his reputation to near mythical proportions. And she'd defended him. She'd felt sorry for him. She'd begun to think of him as some black-coated, overgrown, misunderstood house elf that only needed someone to stand up for him.

Death put a whole new spin on everything. That was it. She was off the Professor Snape-just-needs-a-friend- bandwagon. He'd even been willing to kill off his Slytherins! The man was a complete menace. To make the whole experience even more surreal, the man hadn't even blinked. Not once. He gave no sign he was affected at all. Not a single tremble, not a nervous twitch. He'd not even broken a sweat. 

If ever she'd wanted a sign from above about how to make her choice between her potion's professor and her friends, well, she'd certainly received one. Catching Harry's attention, Hermione settled her Gryffindor courage to eat a little crow. "Harry, I want to apologize for the other day. I . . . well, you were right. He's not to be trusted."

Her softly voiced apology stopped her two friends in their tracks. Ron even stopped with his sandwich raised halfway to his mouth. There was no mistaking the huge grin that slowly spread over his face. With Hermione's apology Ron was no doubt envisioning a peaceful return to their three-sided friendship.

Harry, in turn, gave her a smile. Easy as that, balance was restored. Or so she thought.

Wide grin still in place, Ron nudged Harry. "You know, mate, now that Hermione there has seen Snape for his true colors, I think she ought to be brought into the fold of the enlightened in true style." Ron managed to sound like Percy at his most snooty.

Harry grinned at Ron and then cast a sly glance at Hermione. "Repeat after us," Harry said. "Snape."

"Professor Snape," she dutifully repeated.

"Ah, ah, ah," Ron admonished. "Not Professor Snape. Just Snape. Come walk on the dark side, Hermione."

Hermione gave a soft, rather unladylike, snort. "Dark side? What are you, the red-headed Darth Vader?"

Harry laughed at Ron's confused look. "Don't worry about it Ron, it's a Muggle thing." Still grinning, he turned back to Hermione. Propping his elbows on the table he leaned forward and then carefully enunciated the word, "Snape" making sure to snap out the 'p' sound.

She rolled her eyes but dutifully repeated, "Snape."

Ron added, "Greasy git."

"Is this really necessary?" she asked.

Ron raised both eyebrows and looked expectantly at her until she repeated, "Greasy git."

Harry chimed in with, "Black bat."

This continued for some time with every imaginable name that the student body had ever called Professor Snape, until Ron's turn ended with "Black-hearted bastard."

Even as the words left her mouth she glanced up at the High Table only to meet the shuttered eyes of the man she'd just been disparaging. She expected him to be angry but he looked unexpectedly calm, his face an expressionless mask. She wondered how long he'd been watching them. Had he realized what she'd been saying? Ron and Harry's backs were to him, he'd only have been able to see her.

Then very slowly and with great deliberation he mouthed, "Twenty points from Gryffindor. Detention. 7:00 o'clock."

Hermione groaned and dropped her head into her hands in embarrassment. 

Heading back to the Gryffindor common room from the library, Hermione let the moving staircases choose her path. They had never failed to deliver her to her correct destination when she was in a hurry, so when she wasn't in a hurry she made no protest or complaint when the stairs delivered her to odd or lesser-used corridors. She liked to think of it as letting the stairs have their fun. Truthfully, she didn't mind. Eventually, she'd end up where she needed to go. Tonight, she'd let the stairs do their worst. She needed the extra walking to settle her emotions before she had to face Professor Snape later that evening.

Detention. She had detention. She had detention for disrespecting a man she'd defended from the very same disrespect for six long years. Somewhere she was sure that the Fates were laughing hard at her expense.

But really, it wasn't as if she had said anything that a hundred other students over the years hadn't said first. And he deserved it. He did. Always grouchy, mean, and humorless with never a nice thing to say, especially if you happened to be a Gryffindor. She was fairly sure he didn't feel the day was complete unless he'd made at least one Hufflepuff cry.

The man was horrible and any sympathy, any pity, that she thought she was feeling for him was well and truly gone. She would not feel guilty about the names she'd called him. Childish, maybe, but not guilty.

Glancing at her wristwatch, she noted the time. She was fairly sure she knew which hallway she was in. If she were correct, a couple of turns further on would put her in the intersection where Professor McGonagall's rooms were located. Picking up her pace, she set off down the corridor.

Hermione's only warning that she wasn't alone was the call of "Severus" ahead of her in Professor McGonagall's usual no nonsense tone of voice. The acoustics of the stone hallways did some very strange things to voices within the castle. Her teachers could easily be either just around the next turn or around the next four turns. One could never be sure. So it was only logical, not to mention prudent considering the fact that Professor Snape was probably still angry with her, that Hermione chose to cautiously peek around the corner to scout the lay of the land, as it were. A precaution that stood her in good stead, as through the arms of a standing suit of armor Hermione could clearly make out the forms of both the Potions professor and her Head of House.

She seemed to be making a habit out of eavesdropping on other people's conversations, first the headmaster and Professor McGonagall, and now Professors McGonagall and Snape. Shaking her head, she briefly considered that it might be time to start worrying about this deviant behavior of hers. Tucking herself a little more firmly behind the convenient suit of armor, she decided that bad habit reforms could begin after she'd heard what her teachers were talking about.

"Severus."

Hermione watched as Professor Snape stopped at the end of the hallway as Professor McGonagall called his name again. She was fully expecting to see her House Head berate the man for what had happened during class that morning. Hermione waited in gleeful anticipation. Having Professor McGonagall get onto the hateful man would do wonders for Hermione's lingering guilt about disrespecting a teacher.

She was understandably surprised at the gently chiding tone that McGonagall took as she caught up with the Potion's professor. "Severus, how many times have I told you over the years that killing your students is considered bad form?"

Professor Snape snorted though Hermione could see one corner of his mouth curl upwards. "Truth be told, Minerva, I have lost count. And you can save the lecture. The Headmaster has both slapped my wrists and given me a stern talking to. However, I would like to point out that I didn't kill the little mongrels; I merely poisoned them. There is a distinct difference. I'd also like you to note that I sent them all off to Poppy long before any permanent damage was done. I think that showed remarkable restraint on my part given the circumstances."

Surprisingly, McGonagall laughed. Hermione couldn't believe it. The black-hearted bastard had tried to kill them and the woman who should be standing up for Gryffindor was laughing.

"Would you care to enlighten me as to why you tried to poison your Advanced sixth year class rather than just taking off numerous points from Gryffindor as is your wont?" McGonagall arched a brow and added slyly, "I'm assuming, of course, that it was a Gryffindor that set you on your path of student destruction?"

"Longbottom." That single name was infused with such loathing and exasperation that even from her vantage point down the hall, Hermione couldn't help but cringe in sympathy for Neville.

The Transfiguration teacher shook her head, but Hermione could see the look of commiseration on her face, even as she chided her fellow teacher. "Even Mr. Longbottom is no excuse for murder."

"Oh, stop your over-exaggerations. Typical of a Gryffindor," he huffed. "I was aware of what I was doing, as well you know. Besides, fluxweed leaf poisoning is fairly common. It's one of the Office of Magical Accidents top 20 reasons for wizarding fatalities. I can assure you that after the demonstration today, no one from that class will ever kill themselves with the fluxweed seed versus leaves mistake. They will never forget the smell of the fluxweed gas."

"Be that as it may, Severus, you got entirely too much joy out of the situation. You know you did."

The professor inclined his head slightly in a mocking bow, yet his words held a note of gentle teasing. "Would you take away one of the few sources of joy in my otherwise miserable existence?"

McGonagall made a clucking sound in the back of her throat. "Yes, I would. And speaking of joy, you tied Mr. Potter to his desk."

"Ah, the real reason for your pique comes forth. You don't care that I tried to off my class, you care that I bruised young Mr. Potter's ego. The boy tried to attack me. I was well within my rights to subdue him. I even did it gently."

"He attacked you because you were poisoning everyone."

Snape waved one fine-boned hand in a dismissive gesture. "It was for their own good. A little poisoning builds character." Abruptly, Snape sighed and the slight smile he'd been wearing during the exchange faded back into his habitual scowl. "Now, if you will excuse me, I must be going."

Professor McGonagall reached out a hand and touched his arm lightly, stopping him from moving. "You always do that."

"You have lost me, Minerva. I always do what?"

Hermione thought Professor McGonagall looked sad when she answered. "You always pull away or turn aside. Severus, are you okay?"

The scowl on his face deepened but his tone was still civil as he answered. "I am fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Minerva."

"Forgive me, Severus. Sometimes I forget, you know."

"Forget what?"

"That you are a friend. And don't snarl at me. I've known you most of your life and I consider myself your friend. It is a testament to just how well you play your part that I forget that at times. I'm worried about you."

Shoulders that had tensed at her first words slowly relaxed. "Your concern is . . . appreciated, but unnecessary. I am well and more than capable of taking care of myself."

Even Hermione could tell that Professor McGonagall didn't believe him, yet she allowed the lie to pass. "Very well, Severus. Will you at least join me for a cup of tea?"

"I would like that; however, I am on my way to supervise a detention of one of your Gryffindors."

"One of mine? Which one?"

"Hermione Granger."

"Miss Granger? That's hard to believe, Severus. I've always found her to be a model student. Whatever has she done?"

"Let us just say that she finally bowed to the pressure of her friends in regards to my character." With a faintly mocking smile, he added, "I'm rather surprised it took her six years to fall to Potter and Weasley's influence. Now, if you will excuse me, I must get down to my classroom before Miss Granger arrives."

Professor McGonagall remained in the hallway staring after the Potions master for a few minutes, her face grave. Hermione had no trouble reading the worry there.

Now Hermione felt guilty.

Professor Snape was an utter bastard but he'd been doing it for their ultimate benefit. Well, their benefit and his amusement, but still, mostly their benefit.

It was at times like these that she wished she were the swearing type. Like her first foray into eavesdropping, Hermione was now completely confused. Every time she had dealings with Professor Snape, she came away with a different view of the man. She was starting to feel like some kind of human yo-yo.

So that left her where? Hermione heaved a sigh. She knew exactly where that left her – right back on the Professor Snape bandwagon off which she'd just recently hopped, simply because it was obvious that no one was going to look out for him. Professor McGonagall was sympathetic but ultimately she'd just stood aside and looked worried. In fact, it looked like the man actively discouraged people from standing up for him.

If she could knit a hundred hats for elves that didn't want them, she could certainly take up the banner of Professor Snape, a man who most certainly would not thank her for her efforts. And as for Harry and Ron, well, she was going to have to keep her feelings a secret. She just hoped she didn't end up regretting this.

1 Latin to English translation: ropes to tie

End Chapter 3


	4. Ch 4 Operation SNORT

Chapter 4 – Operation S.N.O.R.T.

Knocking on the thick Potions classroom door, Hermione pushed her way inside at the growled, "Enter." She felt a shiver race down her spine as she stepped into the room. The dungeon room was cool, but the hard, bitter scowl on the face of the man sitting behind the desk was far colder. If she'd not seen it herself, she'd never have believed that this same man, not 40 minutes earlier, had both teased and been teased by Professor McGonagall.

She briefly wondered if this Snape bandwagon she seemed so determined to ride wasn't going to end up running her over instead.

She stopped a few feet away from his desk. She might as well start off the evening right. "Professor Snape, before my detention begins, I just want you to know that I . . . well, I want to apologize for the things I said in the Great Hall this afternoon. They were not only inappropriate but uncalled for." She wasn't sure how she'd expected Professor Snape to react to her apology but his expression never changed. She wasn't sure how to interpret his non-response.

"Your apology, Miss Granger," he finally said, "is neither desired nor accepted. Neither will insincere platitudes of remorse earn release from your detention or earn you a reprieve from your punishment detail."

Trying to stay with her reaffirmed plan to see Professor Snape in a promising light, Hermione fought to keep the instinctive surge of anger from showing on her face. From the smirk quirking the professor's lips, she was fairly sure her attempt was unsuccessful. Struggling to keep her temper, she counted to ten in her head before she answered. "I do not expect my punishment to be lessened, sir. I am guilty. I just want you to know that I'm sorry and that it won't happen again. I let my anger at the time get the best of me."

Eyebrows raised, Professor Snape gave a short grunt of blatant disbelief.

So much for apologies. "I'll just get with the cauldron scrubbing then, sir." At that, his expression finally changed. He looked amused to Hermione, which she was fairly certain was not a good sign.

"You will not be scrubbing cauldrons this evening, Miss Granger."

"Sir? But I heard . . ." She didn't finish the thought. She certainly didn't want him thinking she was criticizing his detentions.

One corner of his mouth quirked slightly upward. Professor Snape was definitely amused now, although she got the feeling that his amusement was at her expense.

"Miss Granger, let us use that vaunted intellect of yours for a moment, shall we? Tell me, before coming to Hogwarts what was your task every night after dinner with your happy little family?"

Hermione's brow furrowed in confusion for a moment. "I washed the super dishes and cleaned the kitchen. It was my job."

The professor leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers over his stomach. "Now, Miss Granger, would a child who grew up in the wizarding world have had such a chore?"

Hermione could only shake her head in amazement as she made the connections. There really was method to his madness. "No sir," she answered. "In a wizarding household, either cleaning charms would have been used or house-elves would have done any manual cleaning."

"Precisely. To give you a task which causes you no hardship defeats the purpose of a detention. Only those raised in the wizarding world get the dubious honor of cleaning cauldrons. I have a much more onerous endeavor for you this evening."

Leaning forward abruptly, he rose to his full height, his robes settling around him in precise folds of darkness. "Come with me."

Leading her to a worktable along the back wall, Professor Snape pointed to a wooden crate filled to the top with shiny, black beetles shiny, black, thankfully dead, beetles. "You, Miss Granger, will strip the carapace wing casings from each beetle and place them within this jar," he pointed to a blue-tinted, wide-mouthed jar set back on the table. Pointing to another jar tinted a dark brown – which Hermione knew protected the contents from sunlight – he added, "Here, you will place the beetle eyes. Do be careful and try not to damage them as you pop them out of their little sockets. You will return the remainder of the beetles back to the crate. When your detention is over you will take the crate down to Hagrid. Have I made your instructions simple enough or do you have questions?"

Hermione looked at the crate of beetles and grimaced in distaste. "No sir, no questions."

"Oh, glorious day," he replied as he headed back to his desk. "No questions from she of the never-ending questions. Then I suggest you begin."

Picking up her first finger-length beetle, Hermione wrinkled her nose at the slick, almost oily, texture of the wing casing between her fingers. Swallowing hard, she began her task. Forty or so bugs into her task, her body had fallen into a steady rhythm of pick up a beetle, slide her thumbnail between the head and thorax, pop the wing casings free, spin the bug, carefully pry out his eyes, drop eyes and wings into the appropriate jars and pick up the next beetle. After the first few, she even gave up cringing at the bug guts that were lodged beneath her short trimmed nails. Definitely incentive not to chew her nails for the next couple of weeks; much more effective than the foul tasting nail polish her mother had painted on her nails as a little girl to break her of her chewing habit.

Soon however, the mindless repetitive motions of her fingers set her mind to wandering. Idly she glanced up at Professor Snape. His dark head was bent over his desk, a frown of concentration deepening the small line between his brows. The rolls of parchment at his elbow let her know that he was grading essays. She winced in sympathy as she watched the red tipped quill flash across one scroll. Some luckless student had earned an obviously scathing remark if his frown and the amount of ink used were any indication.

Making sure to keep her scrutiny to short intervals, Hermione alternated between watching her professor and eviscerating beetles. Eventually even Snape-watching grew tiresome, no longer preventing her from feeling bored. And a bored Hermione, her mother had always said, was never a good thing.

"Professor, may I ask you a question about this morning?" Her question hung heavily in the quiet of the room.

He didn't raise his head, but the quill in his hand stilled its motion. "No, Miss Granger, I will not, to you, or anyone else for that matter, explain my actions in this morning's class."

Catching her bottom lip between her teeth she debated . . . did she dare his temper? "No sir, that wasn't what I wanted to ask."

That caught his attention. Sharp black eyes swept up to regard her with mild curiosity. "One question then, Miss Granger." He raised a cautioning hand before she could jump to her question. "One question only. I suggest you make it good one. If you bother me with some bit of inane stupidity, well, I have another crate of beetles in my storeroom."

She knew the threat of additional detention time wasn't an idle one, yet in that brief second, a thousand questions all begging for answers tumbled through her mind – What made him turn from Voldemort? Why was he helping Dumbledore? Why did he seem to hate Harry, Ron and herself so much? Why? Why? Why? Forcibly she reigned them all in. One question. She could do that. What did she really want to ask that was worth the risk of extra detention? Then she knew. "When you used my wand in class this morning, my magic answered your call. I don't understand why that happened."

Professor Snape stared at her so long she decided he wasn't going to answer. She had just resigned herself to another night of bugs when he surprised her. "Being Muggle-born, it is no surprise that you would not know."

At the term "Muggle-born" Hermione went ramrod straight, bracing herself for the derision she knew was coming.

If she'd been surprised that he'd answered her, she was even more surprised at his next words. "Don't get your hackles up with me, Miss Granger. That was not a condemnation of your birth, merely a fact. By not having been raised within the wizarding world, you lack the social conditioning that creates the background of our culture. No matter how much you embrace our world, how much of it you learn about, there will always be cultural references, history, legends and attitudes that you will never understand until they are explained to you."

Hermione calmed slightly as she caught his meaning. She'd had similar thoughts over the years as she'd tried to find her place within the wizarding world. "No matter how much I want to be a part of this world, I will never be a . . . a native, if you will."

She felt a small surge of satisfaction as he raised one black brow at her words. She'd managed to surprise him, possibly even impress him. Seeing that opportunity, she added another thought that she'd been toying with for the last year, one she'd never felt comfortable voicing to Harry or Ron. "It's what makes me and other Muggle-borns such a threat to the wizarding world and such a rallying point for Voldemort and the Purebloods. In the strictest interpretation, I AM a threat to the wizarding way of life. My first 11 years were spent living in another culture. I do things differently. I see things differently. The Pureblood ideology is wrong, but some of their fears are understandable. Change is hard for any society, but especially so for a society as insular and slow growing as the wizarding world. I think part of that has to do with the longer lifespan that magic users have. It -"

"Five points for rambling, Miss Granger," snapped Professor Snape.

His words halted her mid-sentence. Feeling heat creep across her checks, she murmured a quick, "Sorry, sir."

"Yes, well, before you meandered your way so far off-topic "

Hermione blushed again at his stinging tone, but wisely kept herself from reacting to his words, especially as Professor Snape got up out of his chair to take his standard lecturing stance in front of his desk. He was going to give a detailed answer to her question and she didn't want to do anything to discourage him.

"We, as magic-users, have not always used wands to enhance our power," he began. "Our ancestors used what is commonly known today as old magic. It was a magic that was based more on emotions, raw power and ritual rather than incantations. However, old magic was extremely draining to the magic-user because it used personal energies as its foundation to draw in elemental magics. Wands, of course, focus our magic and augment it, allowing us to perform greater feats of magic with less effort. The downside of this is that we no longer touch the elementals.

Hermione's fingers twitched around the beetle in her hand, its shell crackling under the pressure of her fingers. She wanted a quill and parchment so she could take down notes. Whatever else could be said about Professor Snape's classes, he had always imparted information that kept Hermione fascinated during her entire time at Hogwarts.

Professor Snape, however, mistook her restless movements as some type of censure, for her remarked dryly, "I am getting to the point of your question. Patience, Miss Granger. You must first be grounded in the history to understand the present."

She flushed again. Her discomfort seemed to appease him and he settled back into his impromptu lecture. "Now, without wands our ancestors banded together in circles to work greater feats of magic. However, what was discovered was that some people's magic worked better together than others. They called it Affinity. While it is not all that common nowadays to know who has an Affinity for your magic, it is not rare either. The only reason that it is not as well known today is because we now use wands almost exclusively. There is no longer a need to unite power to accomplish larger workings, otherwise, more people would be aware of those who shared their Affinity. And before you get any kind of wild notions in your head about the nature of an Affinity, we do not share any kind of magical bond. My feelings on your worth aren't going to change. We are not going to become instant friends. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," she answered dutifully. The loathing in which he'd said the word 'friends' left Hermione no doubt as to the professor's feelings on that subject.

"Good. Affinity means only that my magic and yours mesh well together, that in a greater working our magics won't clash or fight each other. That is why your magic responded to me when I cast the spell using your wand."

"Does that mean. . ."

He raised a hand to silence her. "I distinctly remember saying you had the grace of one question." His gaze shifted to the crate at her elbow. "And I believe you still have several hundred more beetles to go."

Hermione followed his gaze to the crate. Right. Bugs. "Yes, sir."

Silence quickly returned to the classroom.

* * *

Later that night after her detention finally ended, Hermione once again lay staring up at the canopy of her bed. She was really going to have to stop dithering about this. Either she was or she wasn't going to involve herself with Snape. She winced slightly at that thought. Involved with Snape, it just sounded wrong. But realizing that she wasn't going to get any sleep until she'd settled her mind and committed herself to the project, Hermione levered herself back up into a sitting position. Pulling out her wand from beneath her pillow, she whispered a soft "Lumos" and set the tip alight. A quick glance ensured that the curtains around her bed were pulled tight. It wouldn't do to disturb Lavender and Parvati at this late hour. Snaking out one hand from between the bed curtains, she quietly rummaged around in the drawer of her bedside table until she pulled out a small Muggle notebook and pen. There was something elegant to the wizarding preference for quill and ink but when you were sitting up in bed, writing, nothing beat a notebook and a good pen. 

Getting comfortable, she propped the notebook on her knees and stared down at the blank page. A moment later, in a firm hand, she wrote:

S.N.O.R.T. – Snape Needs Our Respect Too

She grinned down at the words, knowing Snape would have her picking beetles apart until she was as old as Professor Dumbledore if he ever saw that. It made her feel good to see the words there though, solid and real. In fact, she felt the same thrill she did every year when she sat down and created her revision schedules. It was a feeling of accomplishment begun.

The only question now was, where to start. She would have to be subtle, like a Slytherin, a method that didn't come naturally to her Gryffindor nature. However, selling buttons and writing newsletters as she'd done for S.P.E.W. would never work this time. She would have to start small and be very careful. It was the little things in a relationship that let another person know they were valued and respected after all.

That basic philosophy had driven many of her corrections when Harry or Ron had been less than respectful of Professor Snape in the past. But thinking about it now, had those automatic corrections from 'Snape' to 'Professor Snape' really been heartfelt? Had she meant them herself or had she been just going through the motions? That would take some more thought, but giving him the respect he deserved as a professor was certainly the best place to start.

That decided, she added a single bullet point under her title.

• Respect

She didn't delude herself into thinking that Professor Snape would suddenly become Teacher of the Year if she politely called him 'Sir,' but she hoped that he'd take it in on a subconscious level. That was certainly the easiest place to start, but she wanted to make his life easier as well. Harry was wrong. Professor Snape did deserve to be defended as much as anyone else. She wanted to show Professor Snape that someone cared, that someone wanted to protect him for a change. Well, show him in a completely-anonymous-please-don't-ever-find-out-I'm-doing-this-and-kill-me kind of way.

So allowing for anything and everything, based on what little she knew about the private and taciturn man, what did Professor Snape need help with or protection from? Smiling ruefully, she added another bullet point for the first thing that popped into her head.

• Neville

Then in parentheses, she expanded that thought.

• Neville (and dunderheads in general)

It felt like a good start and she refrained from trying to add others for the time being. This was going to be about quality not quantity. She now knew where she was going to begin with herself, and Ron and Harry, IF she could do it such a way that didn't anger or alienate the two boys.

Chewing absently on her pen cap, Hermione pondered bullet number two Neville. She knew that Neville was an endless source of frustration for the Potions master. His O.W.L.S. had proven his ability in Potions, but Neville was terrified of the professor and once that fear set in, he couldn't do anything right. She was sure though that with a little thought she could come up with something to relieve Professor Snape's Neville induced headaches.

She stifled a yawned. Sleep was demanding her attention. Hermione was going to have to give some serious thought to how she would accomplish her goals for S.N.O.R.T.; however, nothing more was going to be accomplished tonight. She'd done enough for now she had goals. The rest would be worked out. Now she needed sleep.

Closing the notebook she slid it and the pen back into the bedside table drawer. Sliding back down under the covers she reached for her wand but stopped abruptly. Quickly sitting back up, she grabbed the notebook again and with a decisive flick of her wand set a concealment charm on the pages. To anyone else, the pages would look blank, and it had the added benefit of being a low-level spell. Unless someone was looking specifically for this particular concealment charm, it would go unnoticed by most witches or wizards. There was something to be said for the occasional subtle approach rather than the more obvious Gryffindor method of multiple, full powered wards that were the wizarding equivalent of a big padlock and flashing neon sign that practically screamed "I'm hiding a secret."

Feeling better, she whispered "Nox" and curled up in her comforter. This time, sleep came quickly.

* * *

"Neville, can I talk with you a minute?" 

Neville, his hands buried deep in the greenhouse's potting table, looked up and gave a good-natured grin. "Sure, Hermione." Hands full of dirt, he pointed with an elbow to the other side of the table. "Have a seat. Do you mind if I finish repotting these Astrogalus seedlings? I need to get them separated and into new pots before their roots dry out."

Hermione climbed up on one of the tall stools that lined the table, watching Neville's hands as he deftly separated the roots of the young plants arrayed before him. His touch was sure and precise as he gently detangled the twisted and knotted roots of the young plants. If only she could get this confident version of Neville into Potions class rather than the clumsy, nervous Neville that Snape inevitably brought forth.

As Hermione settled in, Neville gave her a look that Hermione could only interpret as resigned. "You're going to tell me something bad, aren't you?"

Hermione tried to control her startled expression but as Neville frowned, she figured she'd not done a good job of it. She'd certainly botched this up already. Reaching down, she swirled a finger through the potting soil, trying to come up with the best way to say what she needed to say. "It's not bad, Neville," she began, "or, at least, it doesn't have to be bad. I just can't help you in Potions class anymore."

She tried to gauge Neville's reaction but he'd dropped is head down and was intently studying the dirt beneath his hands. "It's because you're afraid I'm going to kill you too, isn't it?"

"Neville, that never even crossed my mind. I would never -" She stopped mid-sentence as what he'd said really registered. "Hold on a minute. What do you mean 'too'? Neville . . ."

Neville ducked his head back down. His voice was soft. "It was just Malfoy and a few of the other Slytherins from class."

"Oh, Neville. First off, never believe anything that prat Malfoy says. Second, I just can't help you in class anymore, but I want to help you out of class. Third, I'm not afraid you're going to kill me in Potions class. I think Tuesday's class proved that if anyone is going to have the pleasure of either blowing us all up or poisoning us, it's going to belong to Professor Snape. In fact, I'd lay odds that he'd pay good Galleons to have that privilege."

Her last sentence did what she intended. Neville looked back up at her with a shy smile on his face. "He did seem to be having a good time. He was even smiling."

"Exactly."

"So, why can't you help me in class anymore?"

Given the nature of Neville's fears, Hermione didn't think it wise to explain her ultimate goals concerning Professor Snape. Instead she settled on a more general half-truth that Neville could more readily accept. "I've been thinking about it and I think I'm hurting you more than helping you. Neville, you proved you can handle Potions during your O.W.L.S. You don't really need me to tell you anything. Professor Snape simply scares you so much that you get all turned around. It doesn't help you overcome that fear when I'm there telling you answers or helping you brew your potion. And, to tell you the truth, I think it just makes him that much angrier with you, and me, when I do help you. You don't need help conquering Potions; you need help conquering Professor Snape."

Neville clenched a clod of dirt in his hand before opening his fingers to let the loose soil trickle back down. When he finally spoke, Hermione could hear the exasperation in Neville's voice. "I've tried to get over my fear of him, I really have, Hermione. I need his class. I know everyone thinks it's because I want to be an Auror. It's not. I want to work with plants. I'm good with those. But the really good professional greenhouses test and verify their own medicinal and magical plants. You have to know how to brew the test and control potions."

"Without poisoning everyone."

Neville let out a small sound of amusement. "Yeah, without poisoning everyone. The thing is, Hermione, I knew what Fluxweed leaves could do. It's a documented property of the plant. I know my plants. Snape . . ."

"Professor Snape," she corrected.

Neville continued as if she hadn't interrupted, ". . . just gets me so wound up that I can't think straight. All I can concentrate on is his presence looming over me."

"All right, we have a plan."

Neville blinked rapidly at her, his brow lowered in a confused frown. It was a look Hermione had grown used to see on Ron and Harry's faces over the years. "We have a p-plan?" he asked.

"Yes, we have a plan," she answered, in tones only field generals and bossy Gryffindors could properly manage. Rubbing her hands together, she brushed the dirt from her fingers. "We have double Potions on Tuesdays and regular Potions on Thursdays. You and I are going to meet on Mondays and Wednesdays after dinner which means that we'll meet tonight." She hopped down from her chair and headed towards the door. "Meet me in the Room of Requirement at 6:45 and take your normal seat."

The frown of confusion on Neville's face deepened. "My normal seat? I don't understand."

Hermione just smiled back at him. "You'll understand when you get there, Neville. Just sit and wait for me."

* * *

When Neville arrived in the 4th floor corridor that housed the Room of Requirement, a double set of doors were waiting for him; doors unlike the one that usually showed up when they were here for the DA meetings. These doors were seven feet of dark stained and scarred oak, banded with thick, black, cast-iron hinges. 

Neville knew these doors. He'd stood in front of them at least twice a week for the last six years. They were his very own personal Gates of Hell. Even knowing that they were just doors into the Room of Requirement couldn't stop six years of conditioning. Neville's palms began sweating and he could feel his heart beginning to beat faster in his chest.

Now he understood Hermione's admonishment to take his normal seat.

Merlin, save him. Although at this point, he wasn't sure whether he needed saving from Snape and Potions or friends who wanted to help him. Taking a deep steadying breath, Neville gathered his courage like he did every other time he faced these doors. Then, on his exhale, he pushed on the cool wood and entered the Potions' classroom. He stopped two feet inside the door. It was the Potions classroom, right down to the always lingering smell of smoke and herbs in the air.

Hoping that Hermione knew what she was doing, Neville made his way to his usual table where the ingredients for the potion he'd messed up Tuesday were laid out in neat rows. He picked up a few of the Fluxweed leaves and rubbed them between his fingers such small things to have caused such a fuss. Setting them carefully back down on the workbench, he picked up one of the containers that sat on the edge of his desk. Its label was creamy white and blank, waiting on him to label it with the name and date of a finished, perfectly brewed potion.

Even expecting it, he jumped when the door behind him slammed open cracking loudly against the stone wall. Catching a swirl of black teaching robes out of the corner of his vision, Neville panicked and the delicate glass potion container slid between suddenly nerveless fingers to shatter against the floor.

Neville cringed and waited with his eyes closed for the deduction in House points that were sure to follow. He was shocked, when instead of cold disdain he heard the exasperated tones of Hermione Granger sound behind him. "Oh, Neville."

* * *

End Chapter 4

* * *

Many thanks to my beta queenp. You also have her to thank for the acronym SNORT. 

**Question** – Does anyone know why FF.N keeps eating my scene dividers and how I can make it stop? Thanks to **Anne** for pointing this out to me. I hadn't realized it was doing that.

**MolestAPeanut **- Hermione was estranged from Ron and Harry in her third year. Ron was mad at Hermione because he throught that Crookshanks had eaten Scabbers. We only find out later from Hagrid that Hermione had been spendingtime with him and doing a lot of crying.

**risi** - Yes, everyone was a little too busy thinking they were all about to die to really think about the fact that Snape was 'killing' himself, along with them. I'm sure Hermione smacked herself later when she sat down and gave it some thought.

**Amr** - I'm a button pusher myself so I understood Hermione's problem when it came to the big, purple button.

**duj** - Yes, JKR has left a lot of plot holes and unanswerable questions in the story. You also get the feeling from her interviews that she doesn't like the character of Snape all that much which may explain why he gets a lot of the treatment he does in the books.

**Everyone else** - Forgive me for not listing out everyone's name. I want to thank all of you for taking the time to send me a bit of feedback. It was all greatly appreciated and I hope that you've enjoyed this latest chapter. -Caeria


	5. Ch 5 First Engagements

**Chapter Five – First Engagements**

"Hermione?"

Neville stared in shock. The person standing in front of him had certainly sounded like Hermione. He'd heard "Oh, Neville," in that tone of voice too many times over the years to mistake it for anyone else but Hermione, but it was a transformed Hermione that stood in front of him now. She looked like Snape! Or, she looked like Snape, if Snape had been born a petite, bushy-headed girl.

In a kind of daze, Neville slowly ran his eyes over her hair, down to her feet and then back up to her head again. She was dressed head-to-toe in black; she was even wearing thick-heeled boots that gave her form added height. She'd gone so far as to charm her hair black. She'd not changed the length or the corkscrew curls that gave it its bushy nature, but there was no mistake that she was impersonating the dreaded Potions master. Even knowing it was just Hermione playing dress-up, Neville still swallowed hard as he met the glamoured black eyes of the girl standing in front of him. Hermione as Snape . . . it was decidedly creepy.

"Hermione, what is all this?" Neville waved a hand to emphasize Hermione's new attire.

Hermione glanced down at herself and then spun around in a tight circle. She did her best imitation Snape scowl and then ruined it by breaking out in a huge grin as the robes swirled about her and then fell in graceful waves around her boots. "You know," she said, "there is something fun and empowering about these robes. I can see why he favors them."

"You've gone absolutely barmy," Neville choked out, his expression caught somewhere between horror and a sick kind of fascination as he continued to stare at the transformed Hermione.

Hermione laughed aloud at that. "Not barmy, Neville, it's just part of the plan."

She pulled around one of the desk stools and seated herself across from him, settling her robes around her in inky pools. "Professor Snape intimidates you. We are going to try to retrain your responses to him so that when you feel him standing behind you in class, it will be no different than me standing behind you in here. It won't be easy, Neville. It will take some work on your part. If you don't want to work at this, tell me now."

Neville thought about his greenhouse dreams and chances of actually passing Potions this year before he nodded his head, a grim expression on face. "I'm in, Hermione. If you think this will work and you can help me, then I'll do whatever you want. I want to pass Potions. I HAVE to pass Potions."

"Okay, then here is what we are going to do.Professor Snape does his lectures on Thursdays, gives out his essay assignment, then we hand in homework and brew on Tuesdays with readings given for the next Thursday's lecture. That's his pattern and he rarely deviates from it. You and I will meet here on Wednesdays to go over readings and walk through what potion we're going to brew on Tuesday. Then on Monday we'll pre-brew the potion we'll brew in class."

Neville looked a little skeptical. "How's that going to help me? Destroying a potion in here first won't make a difference."

"It's going to help, because we are going to work out the reasons of WHY you mess up a potion first, so that you don't make that mistake when you get in class. We, Neville, are going to re-invent the way you brew. I've noticed that when you lay out your equipment, it's not in any kind of order. Plus, you sometimes have ingredients on your desk that you don't need. That's what happened with the Rejuvenation Potion we did last month. Professor Snape was standing behind you. You got flustered and picked up the first thing within reach, which was sea salt. Sea salt shouldn't have even been out on your worktable."

"And you think this will work?" Neville could help the doubt that was still coloring his voice.

Hermione got to her feet and then settled into classic Snape stance; feet braced and arms crossed across her chest as she looked down a haughty nose at Neville. "I know it will."

An hour later, Neville decided that if Professor Snape didn't kill him in Potions class, Hermione would in pseudo-Potions class. She'd started with throwing rapid-fire questions at him from their reading for the next day's lecture; questions she felt Professor Snape might ask the class. She'd corrected, expanded and refined his answers until Neville felt his brain would explode from the information. And all the while, she'd paced, swooped, and stalked around the classroom as if she really was Professor Snape, snarling out rude comments when he got something wrong and adding and deducting imaginary House points. At least, he hoped they were imaginary. You could never be too sure about things in the Room of Requirement. For all practical purposes, this was the Potions classroom and Hermione was Professor Snape. The Room of Requirement just might decide that he really _required_ points to be added and deducted. He'd earned a generous, by Professor Snape standards, total of eight points for Gryffindor that evening, while losing a respectable 55 points. Although, he had broken down into laughter when she'd taken off 10 points for breathing, something even Professor Snape hadn't tried yet. It had felt good to laugh though. He didn't think he'd ever laughed at having points removed before. It was a rather novel experience.

When she had finally released him from their tutorial session, Neville was exhausted and sweaty. He was also nurturing a small hope for the next day's lesson. For the first time in his days at Hogwarts, Neville was feeling fairly confident on his ability to handle, if not Professor Snape, at least Professor Snape's class.

Even knowing that the Room of Requirement would just disappear, Neville cleaned and straightened up his work area under Hermione's watchful eye. Neville felt a surge of satisfaction as she nodded in approval as everything was packed up properly.

"Neville?"

"Yes, Professor Granger-Snape?"

"Oh, stop it," she groused good-naturedly.

"Well, you know, Hermione, if the black robes fit." Neville had rather enjoyed teasing Hermione with her new name of 'Professor Granger-Snape.' She gave the funniest twitches every time he said it.

"All teasing aside, there is something else I want you to do, Neville. It's going to seem kind of silly, but I think it will help you overcome some of your fear."

"What is it?"

"Muggles refer to it as humanizing your fear. You give your fear a name or a face. You talk to it, relate to it as if it was real. It allows you to confront the thing – in this case, Professor Snape – in a way that puts you in control. You understand?"

Neville tilted his head to one side and watched Hermione. She seemed rather nervous about whatever it was she wanted him to do. It fact, this was the first time Neville had seen her nervous all evening. "Hermione, I don't care if it is silly. If it will get me an Outstanding in Potions, I'll do it."

"I promise, I think it will help." Flashing him an encouraging smile, Hermione walked over to an object sitting on the Professor's desk. Bringing it back across the room, she handled Neville a black-clad bundle about six inches long.

Carefully Neville pulled back the black cloth wrapping the object until it lay exposed in his hand. "Hermione, this is . . ."

"Yeah, it is," she agreed.

Well, that explained her nervousness and why she thought he'd think it silly. "You know," he said, "I was only kidding earlier when I called you barmy. But, this you really are nuts."

Hermione gave him a half-hearted shrug. "You don't have to, Neville, but it's a proven method for learning to confront your fears."

Neville looked uncertainly up at Hermione and then back down to the . . . thing. "What am I suppose to do with it?"

"Carry it with you. Talk to it. Confront it. Sleep with it."

Neville's eyes widened at that one. "Sleep with it?"

Hermione gave a huff of amusement at Neville's expression. "Okay, maybe not sleep with it."

"Hermione, do you have any idea what the other guys will do to me if they find me with this, or, Merlin forbid, if someone from Slytherin found me with this? I would never live it down. Forget passing Potions, I'll never be able to leave my room again. Are you sure this will help?"

Hermione could hear the doubt and underlying fear in his voice so she injected as much confidence as she could into her own. "Neville, I know it's a lot to ask, but I really do think it can help. Besides, you are a Gryffindor, and we aren't afraid of things that might not even happen."

Neville wrinkled his nose in mock-disgust. "Oh yeah, don't think I don't know that trick. Anytime anyone wants to get a Gryffindor to do something, they just appeal to their sense of bravery." Neville sighed. He knew he'd do it. He'd do about anything to get through Potions, even this. "Just promise me that if anyone finds out that you'll sneak food up to my room so I don't starve to death in my disgrace."

Putting on an appropriately solemn expression, she raised her hand over her heart. "I promise, Neville."

Feeling just as silly as Hermione had said he would, Neville raised his arm up and lifted the small doll bespelled to look like Professor Snape up to eye level. "Well, Professor Snape," Neville said, addressing the doll in his hand, "it's time to head back to Gryffindor. And whatever you do, please, please make sure you stay out of sight."

* * *

With the Neville part of the plan begun, Hermione turned her attention back to bullet point number one of S.N.O.R.T.'s agenda – respect. That was going to be a fuzzier topic than Neville's Potions disasters to deal with. She'd decided to start where she started all her projects. As far as Hermione was concerned, the library was the place where all good plans began. She'd learned from her mistakes with the house-elves. With them she'd not researched or understood things from their perspective. Hermione Granger didn't make the same mistakes twice. She had checked out several books on the history of the House of Slytherin, and two books that were promising to be very interesting reads on Pureblood society within the wizarding world. To truly respect someone, you had to understand them and she was going to do her best to understand the man she'd taken on as her pet project. She was going to give herself a crash course in what being Severus Snape, Head of Slytherin, really meant. 

Having secured her bedtime reading for the next few weeks, she turned to Phase II of the respect campaign. The timing would have to be precise. Hesitation or doubt would cost her dearly. Too quickly and he would be past her before she could do it. Too slowly and she ran the risk of him stopping her with point deductions or detentions, and she'd had her fill of dead bugs.

So here she was – the moment was right, the place was right, the time was right.

Professor Snape stalked down the hallway towards her, parting students before him like some kind of malevolent Moses. The first years even plastered themselves against the walls in fear as he passed. Careful to stay her course, she refused to make a wide berth around him.

She was quick to tell herself that the pounding of her heart and sweaty palms gripping her Arthimancy book was due to nervousness and not fear. Gryffindor indeed, you'd think she was about to walk past Voldemort himself.

Four steps.

Three steps.

Two steps.

One-

"Good afternoon, Professor Snape."

And she was past him, so close that she felt the trailing edge of his teaching robes brush against her left ankle in a caress of black wool. He'd said nothing in return. Not that she'd expected him too, although he had flicked his eyes in her direction in a vague sort of acknowledgement. It wasn't much, but then he hadn't sneered at her either. He'd not even taken House points and if ever there was a teacher who could and would devise a method to take points for issuing a greeting, Professor Snape was it.

Continuing down the hallways, her thoughts continued to follow the man disappearing quickly behind her. Had she said the greeting with enough sincerity? Too sweet? Too enthusiastic? Had she smiled too much or not enough?

So began Hermione's campaign to acknowledge the professor everyone avoided.

* * *

Harry laughed as Neville danced around them once again. Hermione was happy to hear the sound. Harry had not laughed enough, in her opinion, lately. It pleased her that Neville was happy and through Neville, Harry was happy. Casting an eye at some of Neville's more intricate dance steps, she decided that Neville probably qualified more at the ecstatic end of the scale. Happy was too mundane a description. Neville took that moment to do a hip wiggle that had Hermione choking back laughter. The other students in the hallway were casting them odd looks, but most were ignoring the Gryffindors. Seeing fellow students come out of the corridor leading down to the Potions classroom exhibiting the extremes of emotion wasn't anything new. Granted, those extremes were usually anger or tears but dancing could be accepted too. 

"Did you hear him?" Neville asked again.

Ron answered this time for the group. "Yes, Neville, we heard him. We were there."

"Did you see his face as he said the words?"

It was Harry's turn to answer. "Yes, Neville, we saw his face. We were there."

Neville did another half-skip and bounce. "I wish Colin could have gotten a picture of it. I can't wait to tell Gran."

"Mr. Longbottom, is dancing in the halls really necessary?" Professor McGonagall's crisp tones halted Neville mid pirouette, but could not extinguish the grin still plastered on his face.

"Sorry, Professor. It's just that Professor Snape made me happy. It's hard to control."

The Transfiguration teacher did nothing to hide her look of surprise. "Professor Snape made you happy?" she questioned.

"Yes, Ma'am." Neville bounced again on his toes. "We had a lecture today on the Stress Reduction potion and its applications. I answered Professor Snape's questions." Neville giggled, as the excitement washed through him again and then leaned conspiratorially towards McGonagall as if he was about to impart something of vital importance. "Professor Snape gave me five points TO Gryffindor," he whispered, though it was loud enough that everyone could hear him. It was very obvious that Neville Longbottom was drunk on his own happiness. "I got a point for each question I answered correctly. I even answered the one about the circumstances when it's contraindicated." Neville eyes were lit up with glee. "Oh professor, you should have seen the expression on his face when no one else raised their hand to answer that one. Not even Hermione!"

It was easy to see that Professor McGonagall was fighting with herself to keep from smiling herself at Neville's antics though she cut her eyes over to Hermione as Neville finished. "I see," she said. "Five points from Professor Snape is cause for dancing indeed." Her focus still on Hermione she added, "Especially for a question that even Miss Granger couldn't answer."

Neville, completely oblivious to the undercurrents of the Professor's words, went back to bouncing on his toes. "Yes, Ma'am," he answered. Hermione remained silent, though she did duck her head under the probing stare of her Head of House.

Finally giving into a small chuckle, McGonagall swept her eyes over the others. "I think you three best see that Mr. Longbottom makes it to the Great Hall for lunch." Still chuckling, she moved off further down the corridor.

* * *

Professor Snape settled into his usual seat at the High Table only to be confronted with a madly grinning Minerva McGonagall, proving once again that the Hogwarts grapevine moved faster than Owl post. He had no doubts as to what put that decidedly annoying expression on her face. 

Playing his part for the other teachers at the table, he sneered in disgust. "Not a word, Professor."

Hoping to dissuade the woman from continuing, he turned to his lunch and reached for the plate in front of him. Using his fork, he broke through the crust on his Shepherd's Pie only to swallow hard against the wave of nausea that went through him as the smell of stewed meat and vegetables rose up in a cloud of steam.

Leaning back, he took several quick, shallow breaths hoping Minerva was too occupied to notice the sweat popping up on his forehead or the sudden shaking of the hand holding his fork. Luck, fickle bitch that she was, decided that he was due a small break as Minerva carried on oblivious to his discomfort.

"Now, Severus," she said, her voice a study in sweet innocence, "I've no idea what you are talking about."

Deciding that he'd rather play the Game than try his lunch, he pasted a superiorly smug expression on his face. "You, like most of your House, are a horrible liar."

He noticed with some small sense of accomplishment that the other teachers were eavesdropping on their conversation. At the table with him now, he knew only Minerva, Hagrid and Albus as Order members. He'd long suspected Vector and Flitwick as members, but like the Dark Lord with the Death Eaters, only Albus knew the name and faces of all the Order Members. It was an exercise in potential damage control rather than trust, in case any of them were ever compromised, or, in his own case, if the suspicions of the rest of the Order were confirmed and he really was the traitor in their midst. To remain ignorant of the names of most of the Order was his concession to their fears. He was careful to not acknowledge the small stab of regret that always hit him as he wondered what the last years might have been like if he'd been free to acknowledge these people who sat around him as both friends and colleagues.

Spearing a potato with his fork to give the appearance of eating, Severus gave the performance they all expected of him. "Before you choke on your own amusement, yes, I gave Longbottom five points in class today. I'm sure that it is probably a sign of some coming apocalypse. The boy knew every answer, even the one not found in the reading. It was unnatural and against the very order of the universe. I'd have thought Miss Granger was feeding him answers, but I was watching the girl the whole time." He snorted in disgust. "It was obvious that the boy had been coached in his responses. However, if some selfless Gryffindor martyr and I have no doubts it was a Gryffindor - wishes to take on the dunderheads for me, they are more than welcome to them."

Finishing with a heartfelt, "Good riddance to the lot," he stood, the very picture of an aggravated Potions master. Gathering his robes around him, he gave a slight bow to Albus. "If you will excuse me, Headmaster." Without waiting for a response, he turned and stepped down from the raised dais that held the High Table to head back to the dungeons. Behind him he could hear Minerva's rising laughter and the sounds of the other teachers settling into friendly joking.

Across the Hall, a pair of observant eyes followed his progress as he made his way from the room; eyes that noted that once again, Professor Snape had eaten nothing of his meal.

* * *

It was official; subtle was not in her nature. Neither was patient, nor slow. What had seemed, in the beginning, like two simple adjustments to her behavior were providing harder to manage than giving Neville confidence in Potions. 

It really was two small, relatively simple things. What she asked of herself shouldn't have been any harder than what she asked of Neville – first, stop raising her hand to every question put forth in Professor Snape's class and second, write no more and no less than the assignment length on her Potions essays.

Easy. Simple. Easy and simple for a Slytherin. Easy and simple for a Hufflepuff. Maybe slightly harder for a Ravenclaw. Near impossible for one over-achieving Gryffindor, Muggle-born witch inclined to prove herself good enough for the wizarding world. In trying to curb her excesses, Hermione began to realize that she had a lot of issues. Her parents had always encouraged Hermione to 'Know Herself.' She was beginning to realize that she didn't know herself as well as she'd always thought.

Class had been hard enough. In the beginning, she'd decided to limit her answers to one question in every three. Before the end of the first class after making her new resolution, the urge to answer was so strong that she'd had to sit on her hands to keep from thrusting them up in the air. Of course, Professor Snape had taken off 10 points for disturbing the class with her inability to sit still. Was it her fault if sitting on her hands was uncomfortable?

Now she was facing her second trial by fire. Squinting down at the ruler in her hand, Hermione measured off the parchment one last time, careful to keep the scream of frustration she could feel bubbling up inside from escaping. No matter how good she knew it would feel, screaming like a banshee would only end up scaring the first years.

Lifting her head slightly, she sent a baleful look at those self-same first years as they sat on the floor in front of the Common Room fireplace playing a game of Exploding Snap. Their laughter was starting to grate on her nerves, their carefree attitudes a personal affront as she wrestled with her homework. How dare they be finished while she continued struggling with the last eight inches?

Muttering darkly under her breath, she refocused on her Potions essay.

"Uhm, Hermione?"

"What?" snapped Hermione, her temper frayed from her ongoing battle with the written word.

Ginny Weasley look an involuntary step back as Hermione raised her head. Seeing Ginny's stricken face, Hermione let out a deep sigh, a chagrined look replacing her scowl. "Sorry, Ginny. I didn't mean to snap at you." She gestured at her parchment with her ruler. "I'm working on my Potions essay. I've got another eight inches to go and it's just not cooperating."

"That explains the grumbles and growls then," Ginny said with a knowing grin. "Have you tried writing bigger? I can usually squeeze out a few extra inches that way. You can pull in the margins too but you have to be careful on that. Snape notices if you pull them in too much. That's how Colin got busted and ended up in detention." Ginny stopped as she noticed the pinched expression on Hermione's face.

"What?" Ginny asked. "Have you already tried those?"

Hermione tilted her head forward until she could rest the bridge of her nose against her fingers. She had no idea how much like Professor Snape she looked, especially in those moments when he was confronted by some bit of student idiocy he could not understand. "I'm not trying to ADD another eight inches. I'm trying to CUT eight inches. It's too long, not too short."

Ginny began laughing. "Hermione, I love you death and I want you to take this in the spirit it's intended. Ron's right you're nuts!"

"Everyone keeps saying that," Hermione muttered softly.

"What?"

Hermione shook her head. "Nothing.

Upon seeing the distressed look on her friend's face, Ginny relented in her laughter. "Give it here," she offered. "Let me look at it. A fresh pair of eyes couldn't hurt."

Twenty minutes, a lot of black ink, two hair pulls, and one short banshee wail that did indeed scare the first years later, Hermione had a paper exactly 48 inches long. She directed a tired smile at Ginny. "Thanks, Gin. I couldn't have done it without you."

Exchanging a heartfelt goodnight with the other girl, Hermione gathered up her things. She was exhausted and right now all she wanted was to sleep. Tonight there would be no thinking about Neville. No thinking about ways to be polite. No thinking about too long essays or the damnable urge to raise her hand in class. And there would especially be no thinking about Professor Snape.

* * *

**End Chapter 5**

* * *

**Faith Fury** – Thank you for the nice words. Glad you liked the Affinity bit. It's going to become important later on. 

**Amr** – SNORT was truly inspired and much better than my original acronym. All hail my beta, queenp.

**Sasusc** – Welcome back into the SS/HG fold.

**Everyone else** – thank you again. Your reviews give me big warm fuzzies and make me want to write faster. -C


	6. Ch 6 Setbacks and Second Engagements

_For everyone who gets the automatic chapter update notice – yes, you are getting a notice that Chapter 6 has been uploaded twice. When I first finished Chapter 6, I wasn't real happy with it, but after poking at it awhile, I washed my hands of it and went ahead and posted. Of course, after I posted, inspiration struck. **Kabuki1** actually helped that along with her (his?) comment that Ron and Harry were mysteriously absent. So, unable to leave well enough alone, I redid Chapter 6. There weren't a whole lot of changes made, so if you don't want to re-read the chapter, you don't have to. If you'd like to re-read it, be my guest. I will do nothing to stop you. You can even re-review if you want, but that's not required for anyone but Vicki211._

_Thanks Caeria_

* * *

**Chapter 6 – Setbacks and Second Engagements**

Sometime during the third week of S.N.O.R.T.'s campaign, Hermione received a suspicious glare coupled with a grunt in reply to a quietly murmured, "Good afternoon, Sir." Taking the grunt as a positive sign, while completely ignoring the warning of the glare, she practically walked on air for the rest of that day. Even the boys had asked her what she was 'so bloody cheerful about.'

Ron's words, of course, though Harry had shared the sentiment.

* * *

Neville sat propped up against his headboard, several different texts arrayed in a half circle around him. He was scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment, stopping every so often to lean over one of the open books on the bed. He'd read a few passages, mumble a few disjointed words under his breath, and then return to his writing. A few moments later, with a flourish of his quill, Neville added his last sentence.

Sitting back with a stretch, he looked over what he'd written. The essay topic was an examination of the types of cauldrons used in modern potion making and how each metal choice could affect the potion being brewed. "Tell me what you think of this," Neville said. Then clearing his throat, Neville began to read aloud.

_"The following will declare the natural principles and procreations of Minerals: where first it is to be noted, the natural principles of each. All metals and minerals, whereof there are sundry and diverse kinds, can positively or negatively impact the potion they are used to brew. According to the learned Alchemical texts, the purity and impurity of the metals used can have drastic changes upon said potions. This state of purity and impurity moves in sequence from Gold to Silver, Silver to Steel, Steel to Lead, Lead to Copper, and finally Copper to Iron. It must be noted that when given the choice, most modern alchemical and potions scholars will chose steel cauldrons as the least reactive agent in brewing. However, Iron brewing should not be discounted, as the natural state of the impurities found within Iron cauldrons can be most beneficial when working with potion bases dealing with the humors of the body."_

Neville stopped and looked up, fixing his eyes on his audience. "Do you think it too much? I don't want it to sound too stuffy as an opening paragraph."

His immobile audience, propped up against a Gryffindor-gold cushion, neither agreed nor disagreed. Neville, not expecting an answering, continued his one-sided dialogue. "Any thoughts on the second transition paragraph? I could rework that one a bit to try to smooth it out some. I'm rather proud of the body of the text though. That book Hermione lent me on cauldron properties really helped, I think."

Neville stuck one hand under the covers and came back out with his ruler. After careful measurements, he looked back up at the Snape doll with a grin. "Ooh, Little Sev, look at that. I'm actually two inches over the 48-inch requirement limit. I really do think your larger and scarier counterpart will have to give me a passing grade for this one. I'm sure I've covered"

"Hey Nev, who are you . . " Dean Thomas stuck his head into the room, "talking to in . . ." and then trailed off as he caught sight of Neville sitting in the room alone. "Odd," he muttered, "I could have sworn I heard you talking to someone."

Neville, his heart beating furiously from the spiking adrenaline of the near miss managed to stammer out his hello to Dean. "W-What's up, Dean?"

"Oh, we were just getting ready to go down to dinner. Just wanted to see if you were ready."

"Sure, sure. Just give me a minute to clean up the mess and I'll be right down."

"Okay." Dean pulled back and let the door to the dorm room close with a quiet _snick_.

Neville put a hand up to his racing heart and took a few deep breaths. Then, reaching over, he pulled back the bedspread he'd hastily thrown over the Snape doll when Dean has opened the door. Picking up the doll, he smoothed down its rumpled robes and hair. "Sorry, about that, Little Sev, but you couldn't be seen." Wrapping the doll back up in its black covering, Neville carefully stowed it in his bookbag. A few steps from the door he stopped and reconsidered. "It's just paranoia," he said aloud, but nevertheless, Neville retreated to the bag, pulled out the black bundle and stowed it under his pillow. Satisfied, he headed downstairs.

* * *

Professor Snape unrolled the scroll a little further looking for the rest of the essay. He flipped the scroll over thinking that maybe it had been continued on the backside. Pristine white parchment met his gaze. Turning the scroll back over, he glanced at the name confirming that it did indeed belong to Miss Hermione Granger.

Frowning in confusion, he pulled a wooden ruler from beneath the stack of other scrolls on his desk. With a flick of his wrist, the scroll unrolled it full length. Lining up the ruler he ticked off each of the assigned three feet. "Thirty-six inches exactly."

Eyes slitted, he sat back in his chair contemplating the essay before him. He pondered this change for several long minutes as he rubbed one finger against his bottom lip, unsure of its meaning. Her handwriting was still the neat, easily readable cursive she'd always used. She had not attempted to squeeze more words into the allotted length. Pulling the ruler to him again, he checked the margins. Exact as always. He scanned back over the scroll, noting her research and notations. She'd written the essay on the uses of unicorn hair in potions with textbook precision. But re-reading the document he realized that she'd not done the extra work she'd become infamous for. There were no sidebar discussions on unicorn blood, horn or history. Miss Granger discussed the topic of the report and that topic alone.

Impossible.

Frown deepening into a scowl he reached into the bottom drawer of his desk to pull out Granger's file. Pulling out his copies of her last few papers he began re-reading them. Her last three papers were all exactly the required length. So roughly a month ago, Miss Granger's essays had changed. What was the significant of that time frame? Thinking back, he couldn't recall anything that should cause such a change. He'd been yelling at her for six years to write only the assignment, why had she now decided to listen? And did this strange behavior have anything to do with her other strange behaviors of late? More importantly, he thought, as he rubbed at tired eyes, why the hell had it taken him this long to realize her essays had changed?

Severus Snape was not a man who liked mysteries. He'd learned long ago that mysteries did nothing but cause problems when what they hid was finally revealed. The girl had just officially become a mystery.

"At what are you playing, Miss Granger?" he asked aloud, though there was no one there to answer.

* * *

Neville, seated on the couch in front of the Common Room fireplace, was deep into his Potions textbook, trying to completely absorb the chapter on topical medications. Little Sev, safely ensconced and hidden from prying eyes, was tucked in the bookbag resting at his feet. He'd actually already read the chapter once but later tonight he had another class with Professor Granger-Snape. He wanted to make sure that he knew as much on the topic as possible. The subject matter was actually quite interesting as medicinal potions tended to rely almost entirely on Herbology for ingredients. If it wasn't for the looming specter of Professor Snape, there were times Neville thought that Potions could even be his second favorite class. There was something fascinating about the process that took Neville's plants and transformed their innate properties into tangible results.

His concentration was so complete that he didn't notice when Colin Creevey left a game of Exploding Snap with some of his year-mates and sat down beside Neville on the couch.

* * *

"Hey Hermione, can I ask you something?"

Hermione looked up from her Ancient Runes book and smiled at the fifth year in front of her, who was nervously flicking a small lever on his ever-present camera back and forth. Colin, had over the years lost some of his boundless enthusiasm, but he had still retained some of that wide-eyed awe that had first marked him as a first-year when it came to Harry, Ron and Hermione. At least now, five years later, Colin could talk to Harry without getting tongue-tied. "Ask away, Colin?"

Colin shuffled his feet a bit, digging the toe of one shoe into the carpet. "I was talking to Neville earlier. I wanted to know if he could tell me what he has been doing to get better grades in Potions. Rumor has it that Professor Snape even gave Neville points in class." Colin grimaced. "I'm not doing so well and my mum is going to kill me if I fail." Colin gave an exaggerated shudder. "All I can say is that it's a good thing that my mum is Muggle and can't send Howlers."

Colin gave Hermione a nervous smile. "Anyway, Neville said you'd been helping him but he wouldn't tell me how. He said I had to come ask Professor Granger-Snape, but he wouldn't explain what he meant by that. So, can you help me the way you've help Neville?"

Could she help Colin? Hermione didn't know. She'd really never thought about helping anyone else in Potions. She was intimately familiar with Neville's problems. She wasn't sure what was causing Colin's issues.

Sensing Hermione starting to waiver, Colin pulled out all the stops and turned his saddest expression on her, all big eyes and woeful expression. "Please, Hermione?"

Well, she thought, S.N.O.R.T.'s goal had been Neville and dunderheads in general. "All right, Colin, we'll give it a try. Meet Neville after dinner. He'll bring you up to the Room of Requirement; that's where we're meeting. Bring your current homework for Potions and the syllabus you guys are using. I'll need to find out where in the curriculum your class is. Oh, and bring your potions kit, you'll need that too."

"And Colin," she paused, making sure she had his full attention, "there is nothing secret about my helping Neville. However, you might not want to spread around the way in which I'm helping. There is a high probability of Professor Snape putting Gryffindor's House points down into negative numbers if he were to hear about what is exactly going on."

Feeling a bit nervous about exactly what he was getting into, Colin nodded. At least Hermione wasn't requiring him to sign anything. After seeing what she'd done to Maria Edgecomb, Colin never wanted to cross Hermione.

Hermione suddenly smiled, lifting the serious atmosphere that had developed. "Okay, make sure you come with Neville and bring your things and we'll see what we can do."

Knowing a dismissal when he heard one, Colin headed up to his room to gather up the things she'd requested.

* * *

_She had had big brown eyes._

Severus needed sleep. The pull of it was a Siren's song that flirted with seductive promise along the edges of his senses. However, like any true Siren, the offered promise of bliss turned to horror whenever he closed his eyes.

_Wet with tears and lit with terror, her eyes had pleaded with him to save her._

The events of the night's Revel still clung to him with cold, ghostly fingers. The Dark Lord wanted a message sent that resistance would not be tolerated. To that end, two families had been targeted; two families whose crime consisted of Muggle blood within the last three generations and open opposition to the Dark Lord. Their deaths tonight would send a wave of fear through the entire wizarding world. After tonight, even more wizards and witches would bow down before Lord Voldemort, if only to ensure the safety of their families.

_Truly there was no lonelier place to be, than having only the killers of your family around you._

He'd learned a long time ago to shut away these nights for his own sanity, but sometimes the emotions were more difficult to lock away. Until he could no longer hear the screams or taste the ashes in the back of his throat, sleep wasn't an option for him this night.

_He hadn't saved her. Couldn't save her. Wasn't even sure he could save himself anymore._

He had discovered that even the strongest Dreamless Sleep potion was no longer a match for the horror that lurked in the deepest recesses of his mind. He was also already dangerously close to becoming addicted to the sweet oblivion offered by the potion. His back was already bowed beneath the weight of both the Dark Lord and Albus. He didn't think he could support another 'monkey,' as he had heard Muggles call it.

_She hadn't begged. Just looked at him. Expecting more from him than he could give._

He felt like he was trying to walk the thin edge of a razor. On one side the Dark Lord was pulling him down, while on the other side suspicious Order members were expecting him to topple any minute and were relishing in that fact so they could then point with heads held high in smug arrogance that they had never trusted him in the first place. And all the while, the razor's edge cut deeply into the bare soles of his feet with every step.

Severus snorted in self-mockery at the lurid imagery. He really did need sleep if he was turning this morbidly poetic. He was just so damned tired. Looking for respite and something to calm the roiling cauldron of his own emotions, he had left his quarters to walk the corridors, hoping that once again the peace and quiet of empty, shadowed hallways would calm him down. Hours later, with false dawn breaking, he was just finding his equilibrium again, the screams of the nameless girl fading away into the peace of the castle.

_Just looked at him with big brown eyes wet with tears._

By the time the students were up and roaming the hallways, he'd once again have mastery over himself and his emotions. He just needed a little more time, and maybe a headache potion, to be able to face this day.

* * *

Hermione awoke early; the grey of almost dawn just beginning to light her windows. Humming with youthful energy, she decided to get a little extra reading done in the library before breakfast. She had found that in the early morning hours, the library was inevitably deserted, not even Madam Pince would be in yet. With its huge east-facing windows allowing her to watch the sunrise, the library had quickly become one of her favorite places to begin the day.

Knowing she would have to hurry if she wanted to see the sunrise, Hermione rolled out from under her covers, dislodging a slumbering Crookshanks, who gave an affronted meow before he crawled back under the covers into the warmth Hermione had just vacated.

Gathering up her toiletry items she hurried to the prefects' bath. Once again, noting her time, she performed a quick bath before pulling on her school uniform. Glancing at her hair in the mirror, she gave it up as a lost cause and pulled the mass of curls up into a messy ponytail.

Morning routine complete, Hermione grabbed her backpack and headed out of Gryffindor Tower. She smiled when she saw Professor Snape coming towards her down the corridor that housed the library. She even felt a small bubble of genuine warmth towards the dark man stalking determinedly in her direction. In an odd way, she had begun to think of him as hers, or at least her responsibility; a mental daydream with which she amused herself that followed along the lines of Androcles and the Lion. Professor Snape made a particularly fierce, black-maned lion in her daydreams with Neville as his personal thorn in his paw.

Happy daydream of a suitably grateful Professor Snape in mind, she smiled widely at her professor as he drew even with her and offered him a cheery good morning. She was completely unprepared and defenseless against the reaction her words unleashed.

Hermione was almost even with the Potions master when he stepped to his side, directly in front of her. Stumbling to a halt so as to not run into him from his unexpected move, Hermione looked up in confusion. What she saw in his face made Hermione take a step backwards in fright while her hand inched toward the robe pocket that held her wand.

The professor followed her for that small step, his eyes black slits of rage. Most frightening of all was the silence with which Professor Snape stalked her, forcing her relentlessly backwards until she felt the cold stone of the castle meet her back.

Still he said nothing; no cutting remarks, no points deduction or detentions. Trembling, Hermione had never been more scared in her life, the fact that she didn't understand what had set him off only adding to her fear. The man pinning her to the wall with nothing more than his presence was nothing like anything she'd ever seen. Tears, beyond her control, welled up in her eyes and fell in silent tracks down her cheeks, but Hermione didn't lower her eyes, some instinct of self-preservation screaming at her that to show submission now would invite something she'd didn't even want to contemplate.

Eyes that were anything but their usual cold black stared back at her. "Do you think me stupid, Miss Granger?"

Hermione shuddered at that softly voiced question, all the more terrifying for its lack of heat or anger. Unable to find her voice, Hermione shook her head from side to side.

He took another half-step towards her, still not close enough to touch, but enough to send her already racing heart into a pounding frenzy. "Do you think me blind then?

He took another half step towards her, continuing in that same soft voice. "Do you think a pleasant greeting is going to make any difference? That the evil loose in the world is going to give you a cherry wave if you just wave first? Let me disabuse of that infantile notion. You are hereby welcome to rejoin your addle-witted compatriots in running from me in fear. I do not know what kind of game you think you are playing but I can assure you that if I did not fall to Potter Senior and his friends, I will not be made a fool by you and your friends now."

Hermione couldn't think, could only shake her head back and forth. She wasn't. She wouldn't.

Seeing a great shudder run through his body, she froze, her breath caught in her lungs.

"Run," he rasped out, run."

Hermione ran, behind her she heard the sound of something hitting the wall.

* * *

The girl the thrice-damned, happy, Gryffindor girl no one had the right to be happy, no one when . . . he wasn't even sure of the words he spoke – his suspicions and fears, past and present, all jumbling together – he knew only of his shattered, hard-won equilibrium and the all-consuming rage that swept through him.

How dare she! How dare she be happy and safe and secure? Miss Granger who was changing the habits of six long years for no apparent reason. Miss Hermione Granger who was planning something, setting him up for something more humiliation, more taunting.

Hermione Granger who had big brown eyes. Eyes that stared up at him, lashes darkened, cheeks wet with silent tears.

Oh, sweet Merlin.

"Run," he rasped out, "run."

He hit the wall mere seconds later.

* * *

Hermione ran, the doors to the library suddenly appearing on her right. Hitting them at full tilt, the heavy doors swung back to crack loudly against the walls. She paid no attention, her only thoughts to run and hide. Winding deeper into the tall stacks, Hermione sought to hide herself among the books, darting down little used aisles until she was far into the maze created by the shelves. Only then did she drop to the ground, her breath coming in great sobbing gasps as she tried to make sense of what had just happened.

She was still shaking when she finally made it down to the Great Hall for breakfast, thankful that she had at least had some time to gather her composure.

"Hermione, are you all right?"

Hermione turned to give Ron a small smile but that affirmation didn't seem to sway him from his scrutiny. While Ron could be as clueless and self-absorbed as any teenager, his Molly genes seemed to pop up at the most inopportune moments. Right now, she was in no shape to deal with a solicitous Weasley.

Brightening her smile, she hid her still shaking hands in her lap. "Really, Ron, I'm fine. Just one of those mornings when everything seems a little off."

That seemed to reassure him, but Hermione caught him sending her odd glances throughout breakfast. Professor Snape, she noticed, never appeared at breakfast, for which she was thankful. She was unsure whether she could face him so soon after . . . after that. Hermione shuddered as the memory of his face rose up in front of her. If the eyes really were the windows to the soul, Professor Snape lived in his own personal hell.

The sound of wings roused her from her thoughts and Hermione spared a small, genuine small for the brown speckled owl that landed in front of her. She didn't think that the concept of owl mail would ever get old for her. Tucking the required Knuts into the bird's neck pouch, Hermione took the offered "Daily Prophet."

Opening the paper, she gasped aloud at the picture spread across the top half – a modest house burned with flickering black and white flames while the Dark Mark hovered in the air above.

"What's wrong?"

Hermione looked up to meet Harry's gaze. She debated for a moment, before she answered his question by holding out the paper.

Spreading it out on the table, Harry stared at the picture, his face grim, while Ron read over his shoulder in a hushed tone. "Sources say the Death-Eater attack occurred on the Withmore family sometime between midnight and 2 AM in the town of Harrogate outside of Leeds . . . The Withmores, a prominent mixed-blood family, were strong opponents of You-Know-Who . . . Ministry Aurors continue to investigate . . . the dead include Mr. John Withmore, Sr, Mr. and Mrs. John Withmore, Jr. and their eight-year old daughter Anna Withmore."

Ron stopped reading as Harry crumpled up the paper into a tight ball and stood, his body almost vibrating with his anger.

"Harry?" Hermione questioned softly.

"Later," the Boy Who Lived snapped. "Right now, just leave me alone."

Respecting Harry's wishes, Ron and Hermione watched Harry walk out of the Great Hall while all around him students whispered and looked his way.

"He's hiding something," the redhead beside her said.

Eyes still on Harry's retreating back, Hermione asked, "What makes you think that?"

She caught Ron's shrug out of the corner of her eye. "Don't know, really. Something's eating at him though, something bad." Ron glanced around to make sure no one was listening to him. Lowering his voice even more, he added, "He's been reading a book lately. It looks like something from the Restricted Section, and I don't know how he got it."

"He stole a book?" Hermione hissed in shock, her voice rising.

Ron rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Priorities, Hermione. Focus, and keep your voice down. Swiping the book isn't important. The book itself is important. It's a book on the Unforgivables with emphasis on the Killing Curse. Maybe we need one of those Muggle intermissions."

Hermione looked confused for a moment before she understood what Ron was saying. "Not intermission, intervention." Hermione turned thoughtful eyes back towards the direction Harry had taken. "That might not be a bad idea at all."

* * *

A yell and pounding fists on wood shattered the quiet dormitory. "Hermione! Hermione Granger!"

Hermione rolled out of her bed, wand in hand, feet set in a defensive stand before she'd even completely opened and focused her eyes. Whatever her sleep-fogged brain was expecting, a trembling first-year standing in her open doorway in flannel pajamas with kittens on them wasn't it. Blinking at the girl for a moment, she fought to remember the girl's name. She was saved from her memory loss as Lavender stuck her head out from her bed curtains. "Lucy, what's going on?"

Lucy shifted her weight from one foot to the other in impatience. "My roommate, Gemma, Gemma Stuart, she's sick. Sick bad. She's throwing up blood. Mina, she's my other roommate, she said we needed to get her to the Infirmary, but it's past curfew." Lucy's gaze swung back to Hermione. "She said to get you 'cause you're a prefect."

Now that she understood the problem, Hermione's practical nature kicked in dispelling the last remnants of sleep. Throwing on her black school robe over her thin cotton nightgown, Hermione headed towards the door. "Lavender," she said as she got to the doorway, "can you go wake up Professor McGonagall. She'll want to know. I'll collect Miss Stuart and get her down to Madam Pomfrey. Professor McGonagall can meet us there."

Hurrying down the curving stairs that led to the first-year rooms, Hermione entered to find Gemma Stuart curled up in a tight ball, her arms wrapped tight around her stomach. Hermione dropped to a crouch beside the girl's bed while her two roommates stood shuffling their feet nervously behind her. Reaching out, Hermione put her hand on the girl's forehead. From the heat coming off her, her sweat-soaked hair and glassy eyes, Hermione decided against getting her up and walking her down to the infirmary.

Sitting back on her heels, she pulled her wand. Gathering her concentration she waved her wand and intoned "_Mobilicorpus,_" taking care that her pronunciation and wand movements were correct. She'd never actually performed this spell, so she let out a breath of relief as Gemma Stuart rose smoothly up into the air to hover a foot or so above the bed sheets. Motioning for Lucy to open the door, Hermione floated the semi-conscious girl out the door. Maneuvering Miss Stuart along the staircase and through the darkened Common Room, Hermione felt the pull on her magic before she'd gone even a few steps through the portrait door. Holding the spell and concentration needed to keep Miss Stuart level and moving was harder than she'd realized. Gritting her teeth in determination, she quickened her pace.

She was halfway down the hallway, when she realized with a sickening dismay that she should have thought to grab a blanket to cover the younger girl. A trip through the icy corridors of Hogwarts wasn't going to help the shivers wracking the child's body. And it was cold, as Hermione's own bare feet could attest to, as in her hurry she'd run out without her own slippers.

"No help for it," she muttered, as one-handed she unbuttoned her own robe before tossing it over Miss Stuart. The girl was her responsibility and, if necessary, Hermione could live with cold toes. Murmuring soothing words to the other girl, Hermione continued as quickly as possible towards the Infirmary, Miss Stuart's floating body slowly dipping down further to the floor as Hermione own magic started to flag under the strain. She wasn't used to doing magic that required her to hold the power required for the spell for such a length of time.

"Let me guess," a disembodied voice said, "there was a book you just had to have from the library?"

Hermione jumped, letting out a startled shriek as Professor Snape stepped out of the shadows of a side passageway. In her fright, she barely managed to control the _Mobilicorpus_ spell holding Miss Stuart aloft.

"Twenty points, Miss Granger, for wandering the halls after. . ." He stopped as he caught sight of the girl floating slightly behind Hermione, the black school robe tossed over her blending her into the shadows of the hallway.

Stepping around her, he approached Miss Stuart, the backs of two fingers coming to rest on the girl's feverish skin.

Hermione, her last encounter with this man still fresh in her mind, backed slowly away from him. He had scared her badly and she was notably wary of him now.

"What happened?" he snapped.

Hermione jumped slightly. "Her roommates woke me up, sir." Hermione said, as the professor continued his quick check of Miss Stuart's vitals. "She's running a temperature, sweating, and her roommates said she was throwing up blood earlier. When I got to her room she was like she is now, half-awake but not really responding."

Pulling out his own wand, Professor Snape demanded, "Release the spell to me, before you have her dragging along the floor. Then run ahead to the Infirmary and tell Madam Pomfrey we are on our way."

Raising her wand, Hermione felt a wash of relief as her professor seamlessly took over the _Mobilicorpus_ spell, Miss Stuart's floating body instantly rising back up from her sagging position to straighten out into a firm horizontal line. Feeling the magical strain lift from her, Hermione was reminded of what he'd told her about magic Affinity. Even under these circumstances, with her stomach tied in knots from being this close to him, she couldn't help but marvel at the smooth transition of control from her magic to his, or completely suppress a shiver, as for a brief second, she touched his magic with her senses – magic that was deep and dark and brought images of the ocean at night to Hermione's mind.

Shaking her head to disburse the images, she spun around to take off running when "Stop!" in a voice that was not to be disobeyed halted her in her tracks.

Snape was looking at her with an expression of disbelief. "Where are your robe and shoes, Miss Granger?" he demanded.

She cringed at both the words and his expression. "I forgot my shoes in my haste to check on Miss Stuart, sir." She gestured back to the floating girl. "I forgot to grab a blanket and she was shivering. I figured she needed my robe more than I did."

"Five points for not having more common sense, girl. It's the beginning of April in Scotland."

Hermione struggled against the brash words that wanted to spill forth; regardless of how nervous he now made her. How dare he take away points for trying to take care of someone else? Working herself up into a right snit, she was completely gobsmacked when Professor Snape reached up and undid the clasp of his teaching robe, shrugging out of it, and then holding the heavy fabric out to her.

Scowling, as she stared back at him in shock, he thrust the robe into her arms. "Quit standing there like a daft ninny. Go rouse Madam Pomfrey."

Jerking under the snap of his words, Hermione threw the robe over her shoulders, covering the thin nightdress she was wearing. Gathered up the excess length of robe in her hands, she gave a quick nod of thanks to Professor Snape and took off at a near run towards the Infirmary. When she arrived, she was relieved that Professor McGonagall was already there with Madam Pomfrey. Both women looking much like Hermione felt, having been pulled from a sound sleep with no time to make themselves presentable. Professor McGonagall was even wearing a tartan dressing gown with her iron-streaked hair loose around her shoulders rather than her customary teaching robes and tightly controlled hair bun.

Both women turned to her as she entered the Infirmary. "Miss Granger, Miss Brown said you were bringing in a sick first-year."

Panting slightly from her run through the school corridors, Hermione explained between breaths. "Yes, Professor. I ran into Professor Snape. He's bringing her. He told me to come ahead and warn Madam Pomfrey."

A few moments later, just as Hermione's breath and heartbeat were settling back down into normal levels, Professor Snape appeared. All attention within the room immediately shifted to the ill student. Forgotten for the moment by the adults, Hermione retreated, sitting down in one of the wooden chairs that rested against the far wall. She knew she should return to the Gryffindor dormitory, but she wanted to take an update to Miss Stuart's friends when she went.

Drawing her legs up, she wrapped Professor Snape's teaching robe around her, tucking the thick fabric under her frozen toes. Oh yeah, warmth. It was good to be warm. Resting her arms on her upraised knees, her hands tucked into the voluminous sleeves, Hermione buried her nose into her crossed arms. Breathing deeply she noticed the scents of sandalwood and honeyed beeswax that clung to the fabric. It was a warm, comforting scent, rather at odds she thought, with the man himself.

Staring across the room at the flurry of activity around Miss Stuart's bed, she pondered her Potions professor as he listened intently to the potions that Madam Pomfrey was requesting. With a small nod, he was gone, Hermione supposed to his own stores to gather the requested potions. He'd looked odd to her eyes until she realized that he'd departed without his usual swirl of black robes trailing behind him; Hermione quirked a small hidden smile at that thought. It was hard to flare those robes when she was currently wrapped up in them.

His robes. She scrunched her toes up in the warm wool. He'd given her his robes. If someone had asked her yesterday if Professor Snape under any circumstances would ever voluntarily give up his robes to student, she would have answered with an emphatic NO! And yet, here she was, wrapped up in yards of black wool. A Professor Snape who gave her his robes didn't make any sense when compared to the madman who had scared her badly outside the library. Remembering, the desolate sound of his voice when he'd told her to run, Hermione suspected that Professor Snape had even scared himself. So why give her the robe?

When Professor Snape returned a few moments later with two flasks in his hands, Hermione frowned as she studied him, for once not having to worry about attracting his attention since he was focused on helping Madam Pomfrey with Miss Stuart.

Working diligently to help a student . . . a Gryffindor student, at that. That shouldn't be any surprise to her. When it came down to it, he'd always done what he could to protect the school and its students, regardless of House affiliation; just look at her, Harry and Ron and number of times that Professor Snape had come to their rescue. He just did it in a way that no one would recognize his involvement. He was ever the consummate Slytherin.

Hermione absently rubbed a bit of the robe edge between her fingers. There was a thought there flirting around the edges of her consciousness. The professor did care about the students, regardless of how it looked on the surface . . . he was the consummate Slytherin . . . he'd scared her and knew it . . . Professor Snape would never apologize to anyone, especially not a student . . . consummate Slytherin . . . he'd given her his robes . . . protection . . . never apologize . . . but . . .

Oh.

He wouldn't, or maybe even couldn't, apologize outright. But he could offer an apology of sorts. Hermione buried her nose back into the fabric stretched across her knees. He'd given her his robes. It wasn't exactly saying that he was sorry for scaring the daylights out of her, but it was close enough in a Slytherin sort of way. Then again, she could be completely delusional and he would have given her the robe anyway since she was running around a cold castle barefoot and in her nightgown. Regardless of the books she was reading on them, trying to figure out Slytherins was a murky business at best.

And while she was thinking of robes, she didn't remember ever seeing the man without his encompassing teaching robes before. She had known that he was tall and lean, but the man standing across the room from her now was beyond lean. He was painfully thin, with the sharp blades of his shoulders making knife-edged projections against the back of his frock coat. It worried her that the apparently immaculately tailored clothes were hanging so loose on his rangy frame, something that a casual observer wouldn't normally see because of the heavy teaching robes that usually swathed his body.

The gauntness she was seeing made her think about how often she had seen him pick at his food lately. She cast her glance back to Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey. Couldn't they see what she did? Was she the only one to notice his lackluster eating habits of late? WHY wasn't he eating? Stress? An ulcer? Something else?

Which lead her to wonder what Professor Snape had been doing up anyway. Pushing her arm from within the enveloping sleeves of the robe, Hermione checked the time. It was almost 3:30 in the morning. No teacher had hall duty that late. No student in his or her right mind would be up wandering around at this hour anyway. And yet, Professor Snape had been patrolling, or at least he'd been walking the hallways of the school. Again, she was left with the question of why? She'd always discounted the stories of Professor Snape's insomnia as student exaggeration or Hogwarts legend. Maybe those stories shouldn't have been discounted so easily. If the Professor really weren't sleeping it would explain a lot – from the dark circles that bruised his eyes on occasion to the hair-trigger temper than left students feeling flayed alive.

He'd been up early or possibly late? when she'd run into him outside the library as well. Was it all tied together?

Lost in contemplation, Hermione missed Professor McGonagall taking note of her presence until the older teacher stepped into Hermione's line of sight, effectively blocking her view of the Potions master and mediwitch.

"Miss Granger, what are you still doing here? You should be in bed," the professor scolded.

Hermione lifted herself from her curled position and stifled a small yawn. "I'm sorry, Professor. I just wanted to get an update about Miss Stuart before heading back. I'm sure her roommates will want to know that she'd doing okay."

Professor Snape chose that moment to walk over, Hermione's robe folded neatly over his arm. "You can tell Miss Stuart's roommates that she is well, but will be remaining in the Infirmary for the next couple of days."

Deciding to test her theory of robe-as-apology, Hermione stood up, letting the professor's robe hang loosely on her smaller frame. Reaching up she rested her hands on the clasp. "Thank you for lending me your robe earlier, sir. It was most kind."

"Kindness had very little to do with the situation. My reputation may incite fear into the student body at large, but I could not allow you to freeze to death."

Choosing her next with great care, Hermione said, "I've never believed you would allow me to come to harm." Keeping her eyes locked with his, she added, "You deserve every courtesy and thanks." There, she could be talking about thanking him for his robe or the greeting that set him off the other morning.

Professor Snape stared back at her, dark eyes revealing nothing of his thoughts. As the silence between them increased, Hermione's nervousness rose. Had she said it wrong? Perhaps these conversations within conversations were a skill best left to Slytherins. Had she given the wrong message?

Professor McGonagall, growing uncomfortable at the cryptic conversation between professor and student stepped into the awkward silence. Taking hold of Hermione's robe she held it out, her other hand extended to take Professor Snape's robe.

With a feeling of frustration, Hermione made the exchange, sliding her arms into her own robe; blushing in embarrassment as Professor McGonagall scolded her on her bare feet before transfiguring her some warm slippers.

"Come, Miss Granger." McGonagall said, "I'll escort you back to the dormitory."

Hermione turned to tell Professor Snape good night, but the man had already returned to Madam Pomfrey's side.

Within nothing else to do, and an impatient Head of House waiting on her, Hermione hurried out.

* * *

Hermione took a deep breath, held it for the count of three and slowly exhaled. She could do this. Another calming breath. Hold for three. Exhale. She would do this. As the saying goes, you have to get back up on the horse that threw you, or you'd never ride again.

She started walking; her steps slow and measured. She wasn't hurrying, nor was she dawdling along. She'd told him that she wasn't afraid of him. Time to prove it. Hopefully he'd gotten the message and didn't still think she was mocking him or trying to set him up for something.

Four steps.

Three steps.

Two steps.

One . . .

"Good afternoon, Professor Snape." This time, after a short pause, he inclined his head a fraction of an inch in acknowledgement as they passed.

Behind him he didn't see Hermione break into the patented Neville dance step of jump, spin and wiggle.

* * *

Later that night, Hermione reached into the top drawer of her nightstand, Hermione pulled out her notebook. A quick wand wave later and S.N.O.R.T. was revealed. Flipping through the pages Hermione re-read some of her notations. Like any good researcher, she always kept notes on her progress-to-date.

Neville was making slow, but steady improvement. He seemed less jumpy around Professor Snape although he still had problems when it came to brewing. Colin, well, it was too early to tell about him. She, unfortunately, was having a particularly difficult time when it came to her 'incessant hand-waving' as Professor Snape called it. She hated the silence that filled the classroom when he asked a question and no one else knew the answer. The frustrating part of it all was that she wasn't even sure the professor had noticed her attempts to conform to his classroom expectations.

Her attempts at treating him with the friendly respect afforded the other teachers was meeting with mixed success. He'd nodded to her this afternoon, but the frightening encounter in the library hallway was still fresh in her mind. However, even that confrontation she was now counting as a step forward. It had been obvious from the hateful words he'd hurled at her that he noticed that she had begun treating him differently. The fact that her friendly attitude had only served to confuse him and rouse his suspicious nature couldn't be helped. Their non-conversation in the Infirmary seemed to have made some progress with him though. By returning to her greetings, rather than being scared off, she was hoping that she was reinforcing the message that she was not trying to set him up for some unnamed humiliation but chose to greet him with honest sincerity.

And with that goal in mind, Hermione had made a note within her journal, that overall, Professor Snape was NOT a morning person. Truth be told, he didn't seem to be an afternoon or evening person either, but she was more apt to get a response to her greetings then. He absolutely refused to acknowledge her in the mornings beyond silent snarls. She decided to tailor her own greetings accordingly, from now on only giving him a small smile with a nod of her head in acknowledgement if she met him before noon.

Hermione thumbed through the pages until she got back to the title page. She had two more bullet items to add to S.N.O.R.T.'s agenda; two new points that were a lot more worrisome than the previous ones. Seeing Professor Snape without his camouflaging robes had really concerned her. The man wasn't taking care of himself. Although she had absolutely no clue how to approach that particular problem, she felt compelled to try. So, with the sense of turning an irrevocable corner, Hermione wrote:

Insomnia

Health / Eating Habits

* * *

End Chapter 6

* * *

**Authors Notes**:

1) Neville's essay is based off a section of the alchemical text "The Mirror of Alchemy," composed by the famous Friar, Roger Bacon, sometime fellow of Martin College and Brasen-nase College in Oxenforde. I have taken and rewritten the original text to update the language and remove some references due to the fact that Friar Bacon, and the alchemists of his time, thought that all metals were made up of two base elements - Argent-vive, and Sulfur and that depending on the ratio between these elements, you either had pure gold or base lead with all the other metals ranging inbetween. While the wizarding world might be a little behind the Muggle one in the hard sciences, I couldn't see Snape believing that gold and sulfur are the building blocks of the universe.

2) About the confrontation between Snape and Hermione outside the library – we've seen Snape go into a spitting rage when confronting Sirius and Remus in the Shrieking Shack. When writing this scene, I considering putting Snape into that kind of rage, however, the more I thought about it, Snape really isn't angry with her per se. He's frustrated, exhausted, heartsick, and very much at the end of his proverbial rope. He is supposed to be near the cracking point – getting his past and present confused in his exhaustion. That said I couldn't see him reacting positively at being confronted with a perky Gryffindor at the crack of dawn. So all the anger, frustration and loathing mix with the suspicions and the paranoia of a spy and comes out at his convenient target – Hermione. But it comes out in a chilling, cold way rather than hot anger. Anyway, I wrestled with it. Please let me know if it worked for you guys or not.

* * *

**The Reviews:**

**Greenleaves** – I hope this was quick enough for you. I got it up with in hours of your email.

**displacement** – Yes, my Dumbledore is a little different from what you see in most fics. I don't buy the omniscient Headmaster bit. I think he's wise with years, manipulative and is good at reading people. I don't think he's god-like, and as such, he can mess up like all the rest of us.

**Snape's Girrl and africaxsas** – There will be more Snape/Granger interaction but Hermione has a long road to go before she gets to the point where Snape is a potential love interest. At this stage of the game, he's still just a project to her – not even a real person – just a teacher. She's only just starting to see that he's a human being with all the frailties that entails. Then she'll start to see him as a man. Then, he'll be a man with the potential of a lover. That's when things will get romantic. But, like I said, we have a ways to get there. This isn't going to be a quick story. I hope you guys can stick around for the long (and slow) ride.

**June W** – As you can see from this chapter, Hermione is also beginning to wonder what is wrong with Snape. We will get more into the mystery of why he isn't eating.

**Semicharmed and Nore** – Glad you liked the concept of Affinity. It will be very important later in the story.

**Vickie211** – Apology accepted for not reviewing until Ch 5. However, in punishment, you must review all chapters from this point forward. Failure to comply will result in something suitably horrible. (just kidding)

**tall oaks** – Thank you for the very nice review. I too like longer chapters. It's frustrating sometimes to get a good story with chapters that are only a page in length. Minerva does care about Severus and we will see more of that as the story progresses. Even Albus cares, he just does show it in a way that Severus needs. There will also be other adult relationship show between Sev and others as the story progresses.

**Everyone else** – Once again, thank you for your reviews. They make me smile and write faster. Sometimes the best words in the English language are "You've Got Mail" – although to be truthful, my computer has Jack O'Neill saying "Yeah sure youbetcha."


	7. Ch 7 Learning

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Everyone, please be aware that there were some changes made to Chapter 6. If you read the version without the author's note at the top of the page, then you might want to skim back through it. Not a whole lot changed, but there were some scene expansions that will come into play later in the story. **

**Vicki 211 – You, of course, will be required to review the new and improved version of Chapter 6.**

* * *

**Chapter 7 – Learning**

Every great endeavor, the kind that reshaped and redefined the world and peoples' perceptions, seemed to have its special headquarters where the rebellion was first planned, campaigns were made, future engagements were deliberated on, and successes and failures were meticulously picked over. The 1612 Goblin Rebellion had the dark and beer-stained tables of the Hog's Head Inn. The systematic teaching of magically gifted individuals had the establishment of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The war against Voldemort had the dilapidated and pixie-infested house at No. 12 Grimmauld Place. And S.N.O.R.T. had Hermione's four-poster, curtained bed. Once again, she found herself flat on her back staring up at the top of her canopy; Crookshanks curled up in a purring ball of ginger hair on her stomach.

Her original goals for S.N.O.R.T. had been fairly simple. Well, she wasn't sure she would call the Neville problem simple, but she found she was enjoying working with him. Colin too, now that he had joined them in their sessions. It was a challenge to work with them; a challenge that her own class work often times failed to give her.

It was her new agenda items that were causing her the most trouble now. She had a feeling that these two were probably more important than anything else she'd done so far. Each point presented its own unique problems. She wasn't quite sure about how to go about finding out what was wrong with Professor Snape. She had her suspicions about what might be causing his lack of appetite – she'd come to realize that he was under an enormous amount of stress, after all. In Hermione's, admittedly, limited experience stress either caused you to eat or stop eating. Or at least, that's what her Aunt Gwen had said when she'd gained forty pounds after her divorce.

If simple stress was putting him off his food, then there was any number of appetite enhancers she could use. Of course, getting those enhancers into his food and drink without being discovered, and subsequently expelled, would be another challenge. She worried though that his lack of appetite was less stress-induced and more medical in nature. He just didn't look well to her, especially now when she was really looking at him and not just seeing the 'greasy git,' as Ron liked to call him.

She was no Healer or Mediwitch. And even if she could find and perform the correct diagnostic charm, the possibly of Professor Snape catching her casting it was fairly high since she would have to be within a few feet of him. She didn't even want to think about what would happen if she made a diagnosis and it was wrong. She could end up poisoning him instead of helping him.

The insomnia, on the other hand, left her completely stumped. How did you make someone sleep if they didn't want to? Short of drugging Professor Snape senseless or knocking him out with a well-timed blow to the back of the head, she didn't have a clue. She knew there were several potions that could induce sleep, but again, getting them into his food or drink without detection would be extremely hard and the more powerful sleeping potions were not something you casually messed around with. The fact that the professor, an accomplished Potions master, didn't seem to be using potions to help him sleep, suggested that she too needed to find another solution to that problem.

She needed a plan, or at least a direction. Or better yet, she needed two plans, one to take care of the eating and one to take care of the insomnia issue. _First things first_, she thought, _eliminate the easier things. Then tackle the harder things. _She needed confirmation of her suspicions and there was really only one place to go for that confirmation. A list of what he was eating and what he wasn't would also be helpful. Then, she would return to the library, the other home of her little project.

* * *

Never one to put off a plan once she'd settled on her course of action, Hermione braved the bracing winds and warming afternoon sunlight of mid April to sit in the Quidditch stands with Harry and Ron during the Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw game that Friday. Hermione had decided that was the best time to approach Harry with her request. With everyone's concentration on the game, shouting as each side's Chasers maneuvered their way across the pitch; no one would pay any attention to them or their conversation.

What she had not counted on, however, was the Hufflepuff Quidditch team shedding their perpetual underdog status to prove to a completely disbelieving crowd that they did indeed know which end of their brooms pointed forward. Attempting to get, and hold, Harry's attention was proving harder than expected.

Trying for the third time, Hermione put a little more emphasis into her voice, cringing as even to her own ears she sounded suspiciously like Molly Weasley getting after the twins. "Harry!"

Harry spared Hermione a quick glance before his attention swung back to the game. "What's up, Hermione?"

Finally, she thought. Leaning in closer, she lowered her voice. "I wanted to know if I could borrow your Map and Cloak for the next couple of days. I need to do-"

She was cut off from her well developed covered story as Harry, along with almost everyone else in the stands, jumped to their feet in a screaming, yelling, mass as the Hufflepuff Seeker caught the Snitch in a gravity and death defying maneuver that made Hermione's stomach clench, ending the game in a surprise upset that had everyone around her talking in animated tones.

"Bloody hell, Harry, did you see that catch?" Ron shook his head in amazement. "Hufflepuff. Never would have suspected it from them. They keep playing like this and they'll have a real shot at the Cup this year."

Before she knew it, the crowd of students around her had carried Hermione away from her two friends. Making growing noises of frustration, she fought her way to the side of the crowd milling around at the bottom of the stand. Going up on her toes in an effort to see over the heads of taller students, she finally spotted Ron's distinctive red hair and dove back into the crowd, fighting her way across.

"There you are, Hermione. Wondered where you'd disappeared to," Ron said as she suddenly appeared before them. Pulling her in between himself and Harry, Ron used his greater bulk to clear an easier path through their fellow students. Students, she absently noted, who were still taking about Hufflepuff's surprising upset of Ravenclaw. She really didn't get the wizarding world's fascination with Quidditch.

"So what were you trying to ask back there, Hermione?" Harry asked, when they fell in beside Ron, the crush of student bodies lessening a bit as the crowd dispersed.

Feeling the need for caution, she did a quick scan to make sure that no one seemed overly interested in their conversation. "I was wondering if I could borrow your Map and Cloak for a couple of days."

Ron sent a light punch into Harry's shoulder. "What do you want to bet it has something to do with homework?"

Hermione affected an air of wounded dignity and launched into her cover. "I have some additional research I need to do on a project I'm working on." Hermione scowled at both of them, but let them draw their own conclusions from her truthful, but vague, reply. If she were caught, it would be better if the two of them could deny any knowledge later of what she was doing.

Harry slung a friendly arm across Hermione's shoulders. "Don't let Ron bother you, Hermione." Harry turned a teasing grin on Ron. "Besides, everyone knows that Ron could do with a little extra research on his schoolwork. He's just jealous of your dedication."

Ron, of course, reacted predictably and aimed a swat at Harry's head. "I'm not jealous!"

Harry ducked the swing and with a whoop of laughter, the chase was on; Harry darting nimbly through the thinning crowd of students, Seeker's reflexes as good on the ground as in the air, while Ron ploughed straight through the middle, scattering students in his way like a Bludger going through a line of Chasers.

Hermione, left alone once again, merely shook her head and muttered the phrase of millions of women the world over, Muggle and Witch alike – "Boys."

* * *

Wednesday afternoon found Hermione as close to a nervous breakdown as she could get and not be throwing hexes at her two roommates who were currently discussing the pros and cons of dating Ravenclaws.

Seated at her desk on the other side of the room, Hermione stared down at her weekly planner in something that was a mix between horror and absolute panic. She had a Potions essay due the next day that was only half-written. There was a report due in Transfiguration the day after. A creeping Schisandra vine waiting on her and her pruning sheers in Greenhouse Three. Chapter 18 still needed to be re-read for Care of Magical Creatures. Her pre-class Potions discussion with Neville was scheduled for tonight and Colin was still having problems with his potions. She was worried about Harry, and she and Ron still had to hold their intervention to figure out what was up with The Boy Who Lived. She was becoming increasing preoccupied with worrying about Professor Snape and her plans for him, plans that had been temporarily put on hold the last couple of days due to schoolwork, and – she glanced down at her watch – she had a four foot Charms essay due in approximately 22 hours.

By the time she read down everything she had to do for the sixth time, horror and panic had turned into outright hyperventilating. Sitting back she sucked in a deep breath, trying to get control of herself before she went screaming from her room and out of the castle. This wasn't like her 3rd year when all she had to do was attend a few extra classes and keep up with the additional homework. The time turner hours had only been, at most, five extra hours a week.

What she was trying to do now was requiring more than five hours. This was spiraling out of control. Hermione had always prided herself on being a well-organized, I-can-juggle-any-schedule kind of individual. For the first time in her young life, she was coming to the realization that she couldn't do it all. Something had to give.

_Breathe_, she thought, _panic won't get you anywhere._

Looking over her schedule, she looked at the things that were most important to her – Harry, Neville, Colin – and not as surprising as it would seem, Professor Snape.

_Breathe._

It was an odd realization for her to think that for the first time in her life, her schoolwork did not come first. Not that it wasn't important, learning and knowledge would always rank highly with her. But the usual driving need of her school work seemed to be muted.

_Breathe._

She felt rather hollow inside with the realization of what that meant and what was required; kind of stretched and a little confined all at the same time. She wondered if this was how a snake felt when it was time to shed its skin.

_Breathe._

Hermione knew this feeling, had last felt it the day after her 11th birthday when the doorbell had rung to admit a strange, stern looking woman in a long, dark green cloak. She and her parents had had a long talk with Professor McGonagall that afternoon. That evening she'd gone upstairs and packed up her old toys and put away the stuffed animals of her childhood. Sitting down in her newly cleaned room, she'd opened Professor McGonagall's gift of _Hogwarts: A History_ for the first time, accepting the new turn her life had just taken.

_Breathe._

Now, like then, it hurt, but it didn't stop her from closing the three extra Charms references books scattered around her. The Charms essay didn't really need the extra references. She already had enough information to get the required four feet. Probably no more than four feet, but she thought maybe Professor Flitwick would enjoy shorter essays from her as much as Professor Snape did.

_Breathe._

With only a small pang, she put away her Care of Magical Creatures book. Chapter 18 didn't really have to be re-read. If she forgot something in class, someone else could answer the question.

_Breathe._

Resolving to attend to her plans for the next phase of S.N.O.R.T. that evening after meeting with Neville and Colin, Hermione focused her attention to writing her Charms essay.

As the minutes ticked by, her breathing grew easier.

* * *

"Worthless, absolutely bleedin' worthless."

The impassioned outburst from the far side of the Room of Requirements' version of the Potions classroom stopped the question and answer session going on between Neville and Hermione. Hermione raised a brow in a credible imitation of Professor Snape before she drawled, "Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Creevey, for language."

Colin had the grace to look marginally ashamed. "Yes, Professor Granger-Snape."

Hermione grimaced. Colin had picked up the nickname from Neville and no amount of asking, yelling, or threatening could make either one of them stop addressing her by the name.

Colin went back to peering disgustedly down into his cauldron. "It's just that I don't understand it," he said. "I followed the directions exactly. But this," he waved one hand at his cauldron, "is not burn salve."

Hermione came over and looked down into the cauldron as well. Grasping one edge, she tilted it slightly and watched the waxy looking sludge slide across the bottom. "Definitely not burn salve," she agreed.

Colin heaved a sigh. "The same thing happened to me in class last week. I swear I did exactly what the directions said. I double-checked everything and I still ended up with something that more resembled potato soup than a Rejuvenating Tonic. The burdock roots just never dissolved properly." Colin sat back down on his work stool with a dejected thump. "It's hopeless. I'm going to fail and my mum is going to kill me."

Hermione wasn't paying any attention to Colin's whining as she stared down at the misbrewed salve. Reaching in, she scooped up a fingerful of the sludge and rubbed it thoughtfully between her fingers. She could feel the chopped plantain leaves and the slightly gritty feel of the lavender blossoms. She lifted her fingers up to her nose and took a delicate sniff. The rich smell of peppermint and thyme rose up to meet her.

Watching Hermione's behavior with a bemused expression, Colin leaned in Neville's direction. "I tell you, Neville, it's the robes. They're taking her over," Colin's stage whispered to Neville. "She gets more and more like him every lesson."

Neville clamped a hand over his mouth to muffle the noise of his laughter. It was even funnier since Neville tended to agree with Colin's assessment.

Hermione, who had been ignoring her companions' conversion, abruptly snapped her head up. "Colin, do you know how to make Rash Relief?"

Colin looked at her curiously. "Sure, it's a first year potion. It only has four ingredients."

Hermione put a classic Snape smirk on her face. "Brew it."

Colin shrugged. It was an easy enough potion. "Okay."

Hermione's smirk blossomed into a decidedly evil grin. "Brew it six times, Colin."

"Six?" Colin questioned in outrage. "Whatever for?"

Adopting her best Snape attitude, Hermione pinned him with a glamoured black stare. "Because I said to. Oh, and Mr. Creevey, five points from Gryffindor for lack of respect to your teacher."

Seeing Neville grinning behind Hermione, Colin wisely shut his mouth and set to work.

Hermione watched Colin intently as he made his third potion. The first attempt had provided a perfect Rash Relief potion. The second was as useless as his attempted burn salve. She'd watched him from start to finish each time, and Colin was right, he'd done everything correctly. He'd brewed his second attempt with no noticeable difference from his first, yet one worked, one didn't. She was missing a variable.

"Done," Colin called, as he plopped back down on his stool. He peered down into his cauldron before glancing back up at Hermione. "This one worked." Colin took in her hunched shoulders and tight expression. "Again?"

"Again, Colin," Hermione confirmed.

Colin heaved an exaggerated sigh but picked up his cutting blade without comment.

Neville, having finished his additional reading assigned to him by Hermione, wandered over to where Hermione was leaning against Snape's desk, watching Colin's progress. "Harry used to have this problem with his potions, you know."

Hermione frowned a bit at that. "He did? I don't remember that."

Neville shifted his heavy bookbag from his shoulder down to the floor and leaned back against Snape's desk as well. He always felt slightly wicked when he did things like that here in this Potions classroom. It was certainly nothing that he'd ever be able to do in the real Potions class, at least not if he didn't want Professor Snape to turn him into Potions ingredients. "It didn't happen often; and only in the beginning, first and second year. Not as much as Colin, but it would happen."

"What did he do?"

"Nothing, it just went away."

Hermione spared a glance towards Neville. "Nothing just goes away."

Neville shrugged before gathering up his things to leave. "What can I tell you; it did."

With Neville gone, Hermione refocused her attention on Colin and his brewing, and under her watchful eye Colin's fourth and fifth potions came out beautifully. The six was a dismal failure, once again failing to coalesce into a proper potion.

"Can I go now?" Coin was tired and it was showing in both the slump of his shoulders and the whine in his voice.

"Go on, Colin," Hermione said, waving a hand absently in his direction; her attention still centered on the six identical cauldrons lined up on the table in front of her.

Colin, sensing freedom, wasted no time before bolting towards the door, not even minding when she took five points off for running in her classroom.

* * *

Hermione was tired, the extra time taken with Colin's potions had put her behind schedule, but she had one more thing she had to accomplish today before she could seek her well-earned rest. Harry would want the Cloak and Map back soon. She needed to get everything she could accomplished while she had the tools she needed. And putting off this last chore wasn't going to make it any easier.

Whispering "Mischief Managed," she folded up the now innocent looking Marauders' Map and stuffed it in her robe pocket. Using both Map and Invisibility Cloak together had gotten her safely past Professor McGonagall and Filch in their patrolling rounds. The bubble identifying Professor Snape, she had noted, was safely parked in Dumbledore's office, one less person she had to worry about catching her out this late past curfew.

Tickling the pear that opened the portrait door, Hermione slid into the kitchens. Making sure the door shut completely behind her, she turned around to find herself under the wide-eyed scrutiny of two dozen or so house-elves. The fact that she was still wearing Harry's Invisibility Cloak made the situation even stranger since it was obvious that they could see her.

They were, she also noted, staring at her in a decidedly unfriendly manner, or at least as unfriendly as a house-elf ever could. Except for Dobby, of course, who was looking at her like she was the most wonderful thing that he'd seen all day. Pulling the cloak off, she ran a hand through her hair to try to put some order to the messed up curls. Being the focus of all those eyes made Hermione rather self-conscious, but she ignored the stares, squared her shoulders and headed over to where Dobby was watching over a huge bubbling cauldron of what smelled like vegetable soup.

"Welcome, Miss Hermione, Harry Potter's friend. What can Dobby be getting for Miss?"

"I was hoping to get some help from the house-elves on a project I'm working on." Hermione took another look around the kitchen at all the faces that stared back at her in varying mixtures of fear and suspicion. It was obvious that her previous efforts with house-elf rights weren't going to work in her favor.

Dobby caught her watching his fellow elves. "Elves not understanding freedom. They is afraid. Afraid Miss is giving them clothes."

Hermione noticed several elves near them shudder as Dobby said the dreaded c-word. She wanted to . . . but no, she was here for Professor Snape. She needed to pick her battles and right now the professor was it. If she lost ground with the house-elves -- and truthfully, had she ever really gained any? -- it just couldn't be helped.

Deciding that the best method for her to use would be the quickest and easiest, Hermione climbed up onto the closest kitchen table. Dobby squeaked out a scandalized "Miss!" as she stood up.

"Everyone, please, can I have your attention for a moment," she said, pitching her voice to carry to the far corners of the great kitchen. "I am Hermione Granger. And while I don't know most of you, I understand that you all know me -- by both name and reputation. I've come here today to ask for your help, help that only the house-elves can provide. I know that our relationship in the past hasn't been all that great, and because of that, I don't really have much right to ask for your assistance. But I'm going to ask anyway." Hermione sighed. She really didn't want to say this next part. "In fact, I need your help so much that I'm willing to make a deal with you. If you will agree to help me, I PROMISE I will not attempt to provide clothing to any Hogwarts house-elf unless specifically asked to do so by that elf as a means to release them from service. No more hidden clothes, no more knitted elf hats, no more socks."

Officially renouncing her desire to see all the house-elves properly clothed had a profound effect on the room. From her vantage point atop of the trestle table, she could see the ripple of excitement her words had caused as it spread through the gathered crowd. She had a feeling that within minutes every elf in Hogwarts would know of her capitulation.

Climbing down from the table, Hermione was greeted with the first taste of what her surrender meant. She was no sooner on the ground than a dozen elves were clustered around her –- elves that a minute earlier wouldn't have come within 10 feet of her – offering tea, pumpkin juice, biscuits, a nice slice of chocolate cake, anything she could possibly want, even a chair for the gracious Miss.

With the efficiency they were legendary for, Hermione quickly found herself seated at the table with a cup of hot chamomile tea and a plate of her favorite lemon biscuits, while anxious eyes watched her for approval.

Lifting a biscuit, she bit into it and made a great show of savoring the taste. Finishing it, she took a small sip of tea, perfectly sweetened with just the right amount of honey, exactly as she liked it. "This is excellent," she said. "I thank you all." A dozen sighs of pleasure answered her polite words.

"What does Miss want with house-elves?" The voice, as it carried from the back of the crowd, was old and creaky.

The small group of elves immediately around Hermione broke apart revealing an aged house-elf wearing a large, faded green towel wrapped toga-like around its skinny body.

Hermione had the impression of great age, a feeling that was enhanced when the other elves backed away in obvious deference. Manners drilled into her since she was a child kicked in and Hermione stood. "Won't you please sit down?" she offered, gesturing to the table and its other chair. Around her she heard various gasps and whispered comments – "Miss asking Lonny to sit," "Miss treating Lonny as equal."

"Young Miss is kind to elves," the old house elf said, though in such a way that Hermione got the distinct impression that wasn't necessarily a good thing.

Well, they were just going to have to get over it because she wasn't going to give up being polite. "The house-elves," she said, "work very hard with little appreciation. It costs me nothing to be polite and kind."

The old elf shook its head, a faint look of disapproval on its wrinkled face. "Not doing for appreciation or money or clothes." He gave her a pointed look, "Is honor in serving."

Hermione had doubts about that, especially when those served treated the servants with contempt and abuse. She couldn't help her own bias from creeping into her response. "It is an honor to serve when those who are served do not abuse the privilege gifted to them."

Again there was a shake of a winkled old head. "Young Miss is seeing more than witch or wizard for long time, but Miss not understanding what Miss sees. When mother caring for sick child, is she needing appreciation? When father showing child how to hold wand first time, showing for money?"

Hermione didn't know how to answer that. Actually, she'd never really thought about it that way. The elf was suggesting a reason for their servitude that was vastly different from anything she'd expected. "I don't know," she answered truthfully.

Now she got a nod of approval. "Young Miss thinks. Is what young Miss does." Topic seemly at a close, it snapped its fingers and a small, low stool appeared behind it. Gathering its towel-toga up with great dignity, the elf sat down. "How is Lonny and house-elves to help Miss?"

Remembering the listening device she'd found in the library and her thoughts about how the elves and pictures probably reported directly to the Headmaster, Hermione was careful about what she said. It wasn't that her actions were confidential or that she thought the Headmaster would disapprove of them, but, for some reason, she felt that it would be best if kept a secret. "First, I'd like to ask that you keep this quiet – just between us. It's not dangerous or illegal," she was quick to point out, "but I'd like to keep what I'm doing anonymous from everyone."

The previous look of disapproval came back. "Elves not allowing young Misses and Masters harm. Elves not playing tricks."

Hermione realized that the head elf probably thought she wanted their assistance to play some kind of prank on another student. They probably got requests to help with those sorts of things a lot, especially with their ability to move about the castle unseen. "I mean no harm to anyone. In fact, I'm trying to . . . well, I guess you could say I'm trying to fix a harm that I see happening." It was then that Hermione was hit with sudden inspiration. "I wish to serve," she said quietly and with as much sincerity as she could muster.

Around her, the elves that had returned to their kitchen chores stopped. Whispers quickly rose up around her again.

Wise old eyes studied her shrewdly, giving Hermione the weird sensation that she was seated with the house-elf version of Dumbledore. "Young Miss wishing to serve?"

Nodding her head slowly, Hermione answered affirmatively. "Professor Snape is sick." She frowned slightly, "Or maybe not sick. I'm not sure. But he isn't sleeping and he isn't eating right. I want to help him, but I don't know exactly how yet. I do know that I can't help him without your assistance. And if I do help him, he can't know." Going back to what the elf had said earlier, she continued, "He won't appreciate my help" – that's the truth a snide part of her thought – "and he certainly won't pay me. And somehow I don't see Professor Snape ever offering me clothes." Although he did give her his teaching robes that night in the hallway, but the elves didn't need to know that, as it would just make things harder to explain.

Lonny blinked huge eyes and reached up to tug on one wrinkled bat-like ear. "Does young Miss not think elves doing their job for Master of Potions?"

Hermione, having visions of house elves ironing their ears en masse, was quick to jump in. "No!" she said. "I think the house-elves are doing a wonderful job. You always do a wonderful job. It's just that Professor Snape is" – she had to pick her words carefully here – "more difficult to take care of than others." That sentiment sounded rather lame, and very much understated even to her, but Lonny seemed to agree with her.

"And young Miss is wishing to serve Master of Potions?"

"Yes."

Lonny reached up and pulled on his? – her? – its? ear again. Turning to the side, it said firmly, "Rink." A few seconds later a house-elf appeared beside Lonny with a faint pop.

The elf, whose name Hermione guessed was Rink, bobbed low in a bow to Lonny before bestowing another on Hermione.

Lonny pointed a long finger at Rink. "Rink serving Master of Potions in all things."

Hermione felt a thrill of excitement go through her. Rink was just the elf she needed to talk with.

"Young Miss," Lonny said to Rink, "thinking Master of Potions not well. Young Miss wishing to serve the Master. Young Miss saying Master not sleeping or eating."

Rink's small shoulders along with his ears slumped in abject misery. Hermione was horrified to see tears well up its eyes. "Rink is sorry. Rink will stuff head in oven. Rink will iron ears." The elf gave a large sob of despair before darting to the table where Hermione sat. Before she could react, Rink bashed his head down against the tabletop. "Rink has failed Master of Potions," the little elf wailed loudly before again bringing his head down hard again against the wooden table. "Rink must be punished."

As stunned as she was, Hermione was still up and out of her chair before Rink could bring his head down on the table for a third time. She wrapped her arms around the elf's body in order to prevent further damage. With Rink trying to get close to the table and Hermione trying to get them away from the table, it wasn't long before they both hit the floor in a tangle of arms and legs. Rink, using his new proximity to the ground, now tried to beat his head against the flagstone floor. Hermione tightened her hold on the elf and rolled onto her back holding the elf tightly against her middle. "Stop that immediately!" she yelled. Either he wasn't listening or didn't hear her because small, hard-soled bare feet continued to kick at her shins as he struggled.

"Rink, you is hurting young Miss." At Lonny's disapproving words, Rink immediately stilled.

Hoping to head off another round of self-recriminations and punishment, Hermione kept her arms tight around Rink as she said, "I'm not hurt, just a little winded. There is no harm done." Cautiously she released her arms, but Rink appeared to have calmed down. Sitting up, she gently lifted him from her lap.

Lonny was looking at Rink with a stern expression that reminded Hermione of a disappointed Dumbledore. "Young Miss is saying right about Master of Potions?" Lonny asked.

Rink nodded, tears welling up in his eyes again, although thankfully he didn't seem inclined towards self-violence. "Rink is seeing plate after meals. Master eats some, but not eating all. Rink is leaving tea and Master's favorite biscuits in rooms. When Rink returns, tea is being cold and biscuits untouched."

"Rink, what about his sleeping habits?" Hermione asked gently.

Rink's ears drooped further down in obvious dejection. "Rink seeing many, many nights where Master not sleeping or sleeping little." Rink twisted his hands together. "Rink shouldn't say. Master will be most angry."

Lonny indicated Hermione. "Young Miss wishing to serve Master of Potions. Young Miss knows Master unhappy. Tell what Rink knows."

Rink's voice lowered. "When Master sleeps, Master cries out. Many dark dreams Master has."

* * *

**End Chapter 7**

* * *

**The reviews:**

**Alex25** – There are a few other stories out there with similar themes already, although they mostly have Hermione finding Snape when he is coming back from a Revel and has been hurt in some way. As for Hermione being in character . . . I'm trying my hardest to keep everyone as close to canon as possible while still having them grow as characters in the story. We will see if I can keep it up.

**Skyeseeker** – Thanks for letting me know you liked the Hermione/Snape confrontation. I went back and forth a lot when deciding on how to write that scene. Glad to hear it worked for you and for letting me know you are in for the long haul. Hopefully, it will be an interesting ride.

**Linda** – Don't worry, I have no intention of abandoning this story. There might be times when a chapter takes a little longer toget outbut eachchapter should go up every 2-3 weeks, Life permitting. And Hermione will be seeing even more sides of Snape as the fic goes on.

**Vertigo** – LOL. Yes, even teachers are human, but I don't think most students see them as human. They are very one-dimensional to most students. Students don't tend to think about teachers having feelings or lives outside of the classroom. That is the point I have to get her past.

**Gillia Koruca** – Yes, it will eventually be a Severus/Hermione fic. There is no mailing list, but you can have FFN notify you when I've updated the story through Email Alerts.

**Vanityfair** – Snape would be very unamused at being Hermione's pet project. As for if he will ever find out . . . you'll just have to wait and see.

**Everyone else** – Once again, I want to thank everyone for the time and effort that it took to write in the reviews. I greatly enjoyed each and every one of them. You guys have asked a lot of insightful questions and raised some valid points concerning the story that hopefully will be covered during the story.You guys rock!


	8. Ch 8 Being Noticed

**Chapter 8 – Being Noticed**

As Hermione went down the stairs, the air grew cooler against her skin the further she descended in the gloom of the dungeons. This was probably not the best of ideas but she'd exhausted all her other resources. She knew herself to be a bright, intelligent, young witch. She'd never claimed to be a genius regardless of past appellations that had been assigned to her, most notably by Professor Snape. But as Professor Snape had ably proved with his mini-lesson on magic Affinity, Hermione didn't know everything. She was, however, smart enough to recognize that simple fact.

Wiping sweaty palms down against her robe, she rather wished she truly did know everything. There really was no way around this problem. She needed information she suspected only Professor Snape could give her. The question was – would he help her? She could only hope he would be as accommodating today with his knowledge as he had been during her detention.

All too quickly she found herself approaching Professor Snape's door. The fact that his office door was partway open gave her hope that he would be amenable to helping her.

Gently she rapped on the door; loud enough to be heard, but not strong enough to push the door open further.

"Come."

Stepping into his office, Hermione tried hard to take it all in at once. The last time she'd been here, during her second year, she'd been under severe time restraints, needing to move as quickly as possible to locate and take the bicorn horn and boomslang skin and get out before being noticed. There had been no time for looking around. Her memories from that theft consisted mostly of impressions – jars of unnamed things, fear, an ornate wood desk piled with papers and books, anxiety, the sound of her heart beating loud in her ears, the knowledge that she had only a few minutes worth of distraction to steal the necessary ingredients and get back out. Now, she had the opportunity to really look around her. The jars of unnamed things still lined the shelves, individual objects now rather than just an adrenaline blurred mass. Rather than being disturbed or disgusted by the various pickled specimens, she found herself rather fascinated. Her fingertips itched with the need to touch and explore, to poke among the jars and get a closer look at some of the things floating in them. Ooh, was that an actual Glumbumble in the blue jar?

"Miss Granger."

Her name, drawled in that particular sardonic tone, brought her wandering attention immediately back to the man she'd come to see. Unsure of his general mood and wary of inciting his legendary temper, Hermione unconsciously straightened up meeting his inquiring gaze with a steady gaze and small smile.

Hermione resisted the urge to fidget as Professor Snape stared dispassionately at her. If he was surprised to see her standing in his doorway, he let nothing of that surprise show on his face. Not that she really expected it too. She felt she'd become rather competent at observing him and interpreting his moods, however this professor was still very much a mystery to her. Even after all her study of him, she felt getting an accurate read on him was virtually impossible.

"Twenty years of teaching and I believe you are the first Gryffindor to actually make use of my office hours. For what purpose have you ruined a perfect Gryffindor-less streak, Miss Granger?"

She relaxed her stance a little at his words. He hadn't immediately thrown her out, and his tone was only mildly cutting. Overall, she'd say he was in a reasonably good mood.

Earlier, she had pondered on how to phrase her request but could never come up with something suitably subtle. Understated didn't suit her anyway, so she decided on the direct approach as the most efficient, even if it did offend his more refined Slytherin sensibilities. "I would like to ask your assistance in solving a problem I'm having, sir."

One eyebrow swept up in surprise. "From the nature of your request, am I to understand that this is not an appeal for help with a Potions assignment?"

She shook her head, feeling the disappointment kick in. "Not exactly, sir. This is more of a personal project I'm working on." She felt sure she'd failed. He wouldn't want to help her knowing that she was using his time for personal endeavors. However, the calculating look he shot her made her pulse jump in sudden hope. Well, hope tempered by anxiety. She wasn't sure she liked the gleam in his eyes.

"How many House points, Miss Granger, do you estimate will be lost by the end of this conversation?"

The nature of the question took her by surprise. Then she understood -- he wanted to know how important this was to her. She bit down on her bottom lip in thought. Offering five or ten points obviously wouldn't get her anywhere, except tossed out of his office. Professor Snape was watching her with a small smirk on his face, one corner of his mouth tilted up in mocking amusement, ready to order her from his office for wasting his time. She made her decision. "Fifty," she offered. _Ron was going to kill her._

The professor was obviously not expecting her to take him up on the challenge. She had no doubt that he believed she would make a hasty exist when he mentioned House points.

He put down his quill and leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled in front of him. "There are those, Miss Granger, who would advise you that making deals with Slytherins is tantamount to making deals with the devil." He paused a moment before saying, "One hundred."

The outrageousness of his counter offer temporarily made her forget her circumstances and with whom she was dealing. "That's . . . that's robbery!" Crossing her arms across her chest, she graced him with narrowed eyes. "Sixty," she said.

His smirk deepened, that up-tilted corner of his mouth twitching, as if he was fighting back a grin. Nonchalantly he studied his nails, casually picking at a thick callus on middle finger. Silence descended on the room causing Hermione to grind her teeth in annoyance. If he thought he could outlast her, he was in for a surprise. After several long minutes, he finally looked back up at her. "You aggravate, annoy and try my patience, girl."

He stopped then as if waiting to see how she would react to those words. How was she to counter that? Dropping her petulant pose so that her arms hung back down straight, she lifted her chin. "Yes sir, I do."

He huffed out a breath, hopefully in amusement and not with the aforementioned aggravation, annoyance and trying of patience. Her hope was rewarded as he said, "Ninety."

Her palms were sweating again. It was times like these that a good cuss word would come in handy. What to do? And even more important, how much would he let her get away with? Not to mention, why was he even bargaining with her? Appeal to his vanity? His ego? Then it hit her. "As the Potions teacher, I think you might find the problem intellectually challenging, sir." She inclined her head politely in his direction. "I'd like to respectfully suggest seventy."

He went back to considering her over his fingers, fathomless black eyes never wavering from her face. Yet, beneath the mask, she thought she saw a flicker of genuine enjoyment. "Impertinence should be added to the list of aggravating, annoying and trying. Seventy-five."

She didn't hesitate. "Deal." And then added a hasty, "sir." Ron was definitely going to kill her. Not to mention the rest of Gryffindor when they saw the point total drop, especially since this would be impossible to explain to her fellow Housemates.

"You realize, Miss Granger that I am under no obligation to barter with a student. I could simply take the original one hundred points for you being a nuisance and send you on your way."

"Yes, sir, I do realize that. However, I do hope you will be willing to help me with this project or least hear me out first. I believe the cost in points will be worth it."

"Do you now?" he said softy before flicking his fingers to the chair sitting opposite his desk, indicating she should sit. "We shall see, won't we? And rest assured, Miss Granger, IF you are wasting my time, one hundred House points will be the least of your worries. Now, tell me, what is this problem of yours that is so important?"

Her relief was so strong at that point she was very glad for the chair. She felt positively lightheaded with this little victory. He had elected to listen to her. Trying to compose herself, she reached into her robe to pull out the six test vials containing Colin's potions, each tube was carefully labeled in her neat script, detailing the date, time and potion that had been attempted. Carefully, she lined them up on the wooden desk between Professor Snape and herself.

He picked up two of the vials, one each of the correctly and incorrectly brewed Rash Relief. Tilting each in its container, he watched the thick fluid flow within the glass. "The problem, Miss Granger?"

Indicating the two tubes he held in his hand, she began to explain, detailing the conditions of the brewing, the use of the same ingredients, the steps she'd watched. She carefully described everything leaving out who her student was as well as why and where they were brewed. When she was finished, she sat back in her chair, noticing suddently its surprising comfort. This was not at all what she had expected to find in his office.

Then his questions began and she forgot all about being comfortable.

* * *

Severus hated staff meetings. As far as he was concerned, staff meetings were one of the biggest reasons to hate teaching – second only to the students themselves. Unfortunately, none of his usual excuses worked today to allow him to skip. The headmaster knew he was currently free of all other obligations, which is why he now found himself in this stuffy, little room with no hope of escape. Albus had seen to that by personally escorting him from his dungeons; as if he'd actually believed the headmaster's claim of 'just being in the vicinity' when Albus had shown up at his door. Staff meetings have Severus had a firm understanding of why animals would chew off their own limbs to escape a trap.

Albus settled into the worn leather chair nearest the fire with all the dignity of a king assuming his throne. As was his own want when this meeting was unavoidable, Severus took the leather wing chair in the far corner, leaving the other teachers to take their seats around Albus in a rough semi-circle as they made their way in.

Settling in, he traced his fingers over the cracked leather of the arms. He liked this old chair -- battered, beaten, and yet still doing the job that it was intended for -- its worn strength enveloping him in comfort. It had the added advantage of being in a rather awkward position in the room, affording him a reasonably good view of the others, while forcing them to crane their necks to get a decent view of him.

Being the first of the staff to arrive allowed Severus both to choose his favorite chair and to observe the others as they entered and took their seats. His own shadowed presence acknowledged, forgotten, or ignored according to the various personalities and inclination of his co-workers.

Minerva and Pomona Sprout came in together, but split apart as they crossed the threshold -- Minerva to take the seat beside Albus, Pomona to take the seat nearest the window, where a patch of late afternoon sun warmed the faded tapestry of the chair back. Minerva graced him with a small nod and smile before turning to ask Albus something in a quiet voice. Pomona gave him a stiff nod that lacked true warmth. Even as a young man, he had made Pomona nervous. The intervening years, the whispers about his loyalties, and his own black disposition had done nothing to change that. True to her House's inclinations, Pomona was steadfast and loyal. But her loyalty was to Albus and Hogwarts and had never been extended to him.

Hagrid, smelling of wet dog, was next in. His booming welcome and oversized frame immediately made the room seem smaller. For all of his sour disposition and disdainful looks, Severus was quite fond of the half-giant. Rubeus Hagrid had never, in all of Snape's years, looked at him as if he were somehow less than anyone else. Even as an awkward and often sullen child, Hagrid had welcomed him. This longstanding and unshakeable regard allowed Severus to nod a greeting in return to Hagrid's enthused "'ello!" when he caught sight of Severus in the far corner.

Sinistra was in next, followed quickly by Hooch and Vector. The first two ignoring his presence while the third, as usual nowadays, stared just a shade too long in his direction before taking her seat. Those stares of late had become even more noticeable. An occurrence that made him wonder what arithmantic computations had led to the other teacher's sudden interest.

Madams Pince and Pomfrey came in together, their discussion centered on a new medicinal spell book that had recently arrived in the library. The librarian flicked her eyes in his direction but gave no sign one way or the other of her overall feelings for him. Poppy, however, showed no such restraint. Her half-wave and smile were both warm and genuine. Like Hagrid, Poppy also earned a small nod of greeting.

The last professors came in a group, Flitwick, Ambrose Franklin, the Muggle Studies professor, Mortimer Galend, the latest DADA teacher and Trelawney. Only Trelawney looked in his direction, and then only to shudder dramatically while pulling her shawl closer about her rounded shoulders. He responded with a scowl that sent the daft woman skittering for her seat.

With Sybil settling in to her usual chair, Severus' little slice of teaching hell began.

After what seemed an eternity later, Albus finally got around to asking Severus' favorite question at these meetings. "So, is there anything else that needs to be brought up before we adjourn?"

Severus was already halfway out of his seat before he saw Filius shift atop his cushion. _Damn it all to hell. _He'd been so close. Long experience with the diminutive Charms teacher let Severus know that his fidgeting was more 'I have a concern' rather than 'hurry up old man and let us out of here.' He often suspected that he was the only one who shared the latter sentiment. Resigning himself to another half candlemark, at least, of faculty discussion, Severus settled back into his seat and turned his mind once more to the more interesting problem Miss Granger had laid at his feet, effectively tuning out the voices of his colleagues.

Loath as he was to admit it, his encounter with the girl, earlier in his office, had surprisingly been the most satisfying moment of his day. Of course, that day also contained a required staff meeting, so that wasn't saying too much. Still, her request for assistance in an outside potion experience coupled with the existing mystery of Miss Granger's changing essays sparked his interest. Together with her persistent need to greet him of late, and her odd behavior in his classroom, the girl's conduct was decidedly peculiar and not looking like it was going to be changing any time soon. Only the fact that her two dunderheaded companions, Potter and Weasley, had evinced no outward changes in their behavior had successfully convinced him that some massive plot was not being hatched.

Not to mention, the potions dilemma she presented to him was unusual – six potions all brewed to the same exact specifications, using the same stock of ingredients, yet four came out, and two did not. It was most intriguing, even more so when weighed against the things the girl had _not_ said. That she had left out pertinent facts such as who brewed the potion, how and why . . . yes, it was a most intriguing puzzle.

The unexpected mention of Granger's name brought him immediately back to full attention.

"It's not that the girl is doing anything wrong, mind you," Filius said. "It's just that, I fear, she's not putting as much effort into her work as previously."

Minerva, Severus noted, was frowning heavily. Nor did he miss the quick glance in his direction as she leaned forward in her chair to address the Charms professor. "Is her work slipping?" she asked.

Flitwick twisted his moustache ends in a nervous habit as he considered Minerva's question. "That's just the thing, my dear," he finally answered, "she's still carrying a 110 average in the class. She just doesn't have her usual 120." He acknowledged Sinistra's snort of amusement with a small grin sent in the direction of the other teacher. "I know, it hardly sounds suspicious. She's still the top student in her year. I wasn't that concerned at first when she stopped doing extra credit work. I figured she was young and wanted the extra time for herself. After all, with her regular grades, the extra credit work was hardly necessary."

"Understandable," injected Rolanda Hooch, shrugging one shoulder unconcerned.

Snape noticed, though, that Vector was now wearing the same frown that had marred Minerva's face a few moments earlier.

Flitwick nodded to Rolanda. "Normally, I'd agree. It's perfectly understandable if it had stopped there, but the girl has turned in a forty-eight inch scroll. Exactly the length requested with no extra!"

Flitwick's obviously amazement was lost on Rolanda. As the flying instructor, she had never had the privilege of experiencing Hermione Granger's idea of a written assignment. The information, however, was an intriguing revelation to Severus. The mystery surrounding Miss Granger was deepening. Apparently, his was not the only class where her habits of six years were changing.

"Albus?"

Severus knew what Minerva was asking. As Headmaster, Albus and his magic were tied directly into many of the wards that protected and monitored Hogwarts. He was also privy to whatever other secret methods of surveillance each successive headmaster had installed in the castle, which aided the impression of being all knowing. A reputation, Severus well knew helped curb some of the more outlandish excesses of the student body. Minerva wanted to know if Albus had any information from his _other_ sources.

Surprisingly the headmaster's famed omniscience failed him in this instance. "Unfortunately, Minerva, I seem to have nothing to contribute. I have neither heard nor seen anything untoward in regards to Miss Granger. I am sure that Miss Granger is simply pursuing other interests." Albus smiled then, blue eyes twinkling. "I may not look it, but I was young once. Might a young man have caught Miss Granger's attention? Perhaps young Ronald Weasley?"

That image pulled a faint snort of amusement mixed with contempt from Severus, loud enough for several heads to turn in his direction. "Whatever is going on with Miss Granger, I seriously doubt that Weasley is involved." His tone left little doubt as to his thoughts on the merit of the young man.

All eyes were now trained on him; several teachers actually turned in their chairs to better see him. Minerva's lips were pinched tight. "You know something." It was not so much question as a statement.

When he merely gazed steadily back, her lips tightened even further in a straight, disapproving line. He did so enjoy riling Minerva's temper and often wondered if she realized he did it deliberately.

When she finally spoke, he could hear her brogue just starting to seep into her words. "Severus Snape, we are not going to play a game of Slytherin Twenty Questions. What do you know you about Miss Granger?"

He reached up to trace a finger across his upper lip, more to hide his slight smile than anything else. "I know nothing, Minerva. Only that the girl, as Professor Flitwick has stated, is acting oddly. As with his class assignments, she has taken to writing _only_ the requested amount for Potions essays." He paused then, unsure of whether to add anything else. At a look from Albus, he added. "She is, also, no longer raising her hand in class unless it becomes obvious that no one else knows the answer."

"And?" Hooch asked. "What's odd about that?"

"That in itself should be a sign that something is not right. Rains of fire and swarming locusts aren't as obvious as signs of impending trouble as Miss Granger NOT raising her hand. There is one more thing. She is no longer helping Longbottom in class, although I suspect that she is somehow helping him out of class, as his work – essays, class answers and brewing – have all been steadily improving."

At this last statement, Minerva raised an eyebrow.

Severus narrowed his eyes at her. He wouldn't tell Minerva that the Granger girl was greeting him at every opportunity. It sounded idiotic in his own head, saying the words out loud would just incite laughter from the others. They wouldn't understand anyway since students regularly greeted them in the hallways with easy familiarity.

Albus' chuckle broke Minerva's stare. "It sounds as if young Miss Granger is simply settling into her maturity. I doubt there is any real cause for concern." Clapping his hands together he stood, signaling the end of the meeting. "Come. I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm starved. Dinner awaits."

As the others filed out of the room, Severus felt eyes on him. Turning swiftly he found Vector still seated, staring thoughtfully at him.

Directing a sneer in her direction as he left, he felt better when she flushed at being caught.

* * *

Hindsight, as they say, is 20/20. Looking back, she could see how this had been a very bad idea. Too bad she hadn't considered that earlier. She had the Marauders' Map; she could have just stayed in the safety of her rooms. But no, she had to see for herself; had to be up close and personal.

Hermione pressed herself back another inch into the alcove, making sure that the trailing edge of Harry's cloak covered her feet. Up close and personal, indeed. She ought to have her head examined. When had she become a rule-breaker? Had she always been this way or had it been a long, slow, inevitable slide into lawlessness? She used to quiet her conscious by rationalizing that it was all Harry and Ron's doing. She had just been dragged into their adventures -- more to keep them out of even more trouble than because she'd _wanted_ to be involved.

But were Harry and Ron here now? No. They were safe and snug in their beds where all the good little, rule-abiding Gryffindors were. The bad, rule-_breaking_ Gryffindors, however, were squashed into a tiny alcove on the third floor praying to anyone or anything that would listen that the man currently sharing the alcove with her didn't discover her presence.

This was most definitely not one of her better ideas.

The temptation had gotten to her; or rather her curiosity had. Staring at the Map while remaining in the safety and seclusion of her bed, she'd watched Professor Snape walk in endless circles through the castle. She had felt the urge to actually see her professor. It wasn't enough to see his footsteps tracking across the Map. She needed to see him. She wanted to connect with him, to understand the urge that drove him to walk the castle all night long.

Throwing caution to the wind, despite the part of her that sounded suspiciously like Professor Snape pointing out how Gryffindor she was acting, Hermione had snuck out of the Tower; cloak and Map firmly in hand.

Finding him had been easy with the help of the Map. Keeping him unaware of her presence had proven more difficult. Even with silencing spells and the cloak, it hadn't taken long before he'd begun to look behind him. Realizing that he was sensing her presence, much like he did when she watched him in the Great Hall, Hermione fell back to follow him from a greater distance. Never once did she consider turning back to the safety of her room.

Then she'd heard the sound of voices behind her. Young voices to be exact. Realizing that some curfew breaking students were about to be caught, she ducked into a side alcove so that they could pass her by. She had never thought that Professor Snape would backtrack towards her to duck into the same alcove to watch a couple of Ravenclaws sneak past. Why was he even watching the Ravenclaws anyway? Wasn't it his job to catch students in the act of wrongdoing and swoop in on them? Hermione's heart was beating so loud now she was amazed that the professor couldn't hear it. _Oh God, oh God, oh God._ If he took even one more step backwards he'd run into her, and invisibility cloak or not, she'd be well and truly caught.

He was so close now that one booted heel actually stood on the cloak's hem. Hermione forgot how to breathe.

Then he was gone with the barest brush of his teaching robes against her. Fear slowly abated as her heart slowed from its adrenaline-induced high. That was close. So very, very close. Too close.

* * *

Following along in the shadows behind the pair of Ravenclaws, Severus realized that his watcher had departed. He had become aware of the presence shadowing him by slow degrees, the itch between his shoulder blades intensifying with each passing moment. Another wizard would have dismissed the feeling of being watched when a surreptitious glance around revealed no lurking presences or nosy portraits. Severus wasn't any ordinary wizard, though, and his paranoia and acutely aware senses had saved his life on more than one occasion. He learned a long time ago, listen to them.

Deciding on a small test earlier, he'd set off through the castle, his pace leisurely and unhurried. The presence had followed along the darkened corridors, pacing along with him.

It wasn't the first time that some inquisitive ghost had followed him on his nocturnal ramblings. Those that wished to chat he quickly sent on their way, threats of exorcism worked as well on ghosts as expulsion did on students. It had been a silent companion. Since he had sensed no malicious intent, only curiosity, he had not demanded that it reveal itself or be gone. In all likelihood, it was a new spirit. They tended to be shyer about revealing themselves to the living residents of the castle, a supposition apparently confirmed by the disappearance of the presence after the appearance of the Ravenclaws. He had not felt the other since he'd begun following them.

Seeing those he followed quicken their pace, he quickened his own. Closing in on his chosen prey, he dismissed thoughts of shy ghosts as inconsequential. Instead he focused his thoughts on the two young men before him. Over the years, he'd found it more entertaining over the years to let them get close to their goal thinking they'd succeeded before he revealed himself.

A few more steps; let them get within sight of the Ravenclaw portrait door. Wait. Wait. Now.

"Mr. Hedge. Mr. Wunderlich. How very disappointing for you." Seeing their shoulders stiffen and then droop as he stepped from the darkness, Severus let one side of his mouth slowly curl upwards.

* * *

Hermione paced along the back wall of the room, her footfalls muffled by a thick rug in soothing shades of blues and greens. Ron had conjured the Room of Requirement with the idea that they needed a safe, comfortable place to have a serious conversion. Hermione had added her own requirement that the room be warded against any spying devices, internal or external, as she did every time she created her own Potions classroom. She was not going to make their activities any easier for the headmaster to track. She was thankful that the Room worked for mental requirements rather verbal. She did not want to have to explain her request for spy-proofing. She still had misgivings about whether or not she was right in not tell the boys about the listening devices.

The Room, in answer to their combined requirements, had provided this small, walnut-paneled study. A roaring fireplace, overstuffed chairs, and soft colors gave the room a cozy, easy feel.

This comfortable feel, however, was doing nothing to calm her restlessness. She refused to name the flutters in her stomach as nerves. After her heart pounding, close call with Professor Snape the previous evening, she thought she should have developed nerves of pure steel. She still couldn't believe she hadn't been caught.

Shaking her head, she thoroughly dismissed the thoughts of her professor. Now it was time to focus on her friends. Harry, whether he acknowledged it or not, needed them. She just hoped they could break through the wall of anger that Harry had built around himself.

Hearing the door open behind her, Hermione turned.

As the door closed behind him with a heavy _thud_, Harry realized he'd been led into a trap. A quick scan of the room revealed no other exits, and for one insane second, he thought of pulling his wand and making a run for it. However, a quick glance behind him confirmed that a solid body, with a decidedly mulish expression on its face, was blocking the door.

Catching Ron's gaze where he stood guarding the door, Harry said, "Et tu, Ron?" While Ron's look of confusion took away some of the irony of the situation, the sound of his other captor's soft sigh gave him some satisfaction that she, at least, had caught and understood his reference.

Hermione sighed. She'd known this wasn't going to be easy, but had hoped that they could at least start the evening pleasantly.

"Please don't be that way, Harry." She made a gesture towards Ron, "We are your friends, you know. We're worried about you. You won't talk to us, so we decided to talk to you."

Pleasant went out the proverbial window as, even from across the room, she could feel Harry's magic pushing against her senses as his anger ignited. Even without those invisible waves of power, she could have read his mood from the dull red flush staining his cheeks and the clenched fists held rigidly at his sides.

Braving that anger, she took a step forward. "Harry, something is going on with you. Let us in. Let us help."

"There's nothing going on," Harry spat.

"Bollocks!" Ron said, "We don't believe you, Harry."

At Ron's words, Harry spun around to face the other boy. Hoping to avoid a duel, Hermione darted forward, sliding in between Harry and Ron. "

What Ron means," Hermione said, with a swift glare over her shoulder in Ron's direction, "is that something else is going on with you, Harry. And we can see that. We know you were devastated when Sirius died. And maybe everyone else thinks your moods are because of Sirius, but we know they aren't. The wrong things set you off. A few days ago, you were playing tag with Ron across the lawn. Look at you know, you barely have rein on your temper. You are ready to hex your best friend."

Harry however was in full denial. "I'm not being _set off_." He twisted his words to mimic Hermione's tone and inflection.

"Aren't you? Ron asked, his eyes sweeping over the other boy's tense body, lingering pointedly on the clenched fists at Harry's side. "Could have fooled me."

Harry's green eyes narrowed. "I don't have to bother with fooling you. It's not your concern anyway. You don't need to know."

"We don't need to know?" Ron repeated back, his voice rising in disbelief. "Well, where I have heard that one before?"He raised a hand to Hermione's shoulder and gently moved her to one side so he could step closer to Harry."Oh wait, I know, I believe Dumbledore said that you. And I believe, correct me if I'm wrong here, mate, but you raised a bloody stink about being treated like a child and not being told about things that concern you." By the end, Ron was standing chest to chest with Harry as he yelled, his face splotched in ugly patches of red and white.

Harry, though slighter of build and shorter, was not backing away and was yelling right back. "It's not your concern. This has nothing to do with you two." Harry shouldered past Ron, heading towards the door. "This is about the fight with Voldemort, and you aren't involved."

Nothing to do with her? How could he think that it didn't concern her or Ron? With that, Hermione lost her own temper. "Hold on a minute, this conversion is not over." Hermione advanced on Harry until she was nose to nose with him. "Doesn't concern me? Not involved?" Hermione took a step forward, forcing Harry back a step. "Of all the self-centered, positively STUPID things to say." One finger jabbed into Harry's chest forcing him back another step. "

It's _my _fight because _I'm_ Muggle-born. It's _my_ fight because Voldemort has made _me_ a target."

Crackles of energy raced down her spiraled curls, electrifying the ends and making them stand away from her head in a bushy nimbus. One spark leapt from the end of a curl to fall sizzling against Harry's hand, causing him to jerk and take another step backwards. Unfortunately, this last step put his back up against the wall. Hermione, oblivious to anything but her anger continued forward, following his progress step by step. "It's _my_ fight _not_ because I'm a friend of Harry Potter, but because, academically, _I'm _the top-ranked student academically for our year over every one of those asinine, petty, puffed-up Purebloods. It has everything to do with _me_ because _I_ choose to stand up against a madman who uses terror and intimidation to try to take what isn't his."

Hermione finally stopped, breathing hard, seeming to stare right through the boy in front of her.

"Uh, Hermione . . ."

Hermione blinked, coming to her senses. The anger she had felt was draining quickly away only to be replaced even faster by mortification as she realized what she'd just done.

Harry, with eyes wide, looked shocked, although Hermione couldn't decide if it was due to her words, the little, sizzling, electric-blue arcs of magic that she felt leaping amongst her curls, or the fact that she'd backed him into the far corner of the room with one finger still resting pointedly against his chest.

"Sorry." Hastily she lowered her hand, cheeks coloring scarlet in her embarrassment. Stepping away from Harry, she glanced over at Ron only to drop her head into her hands and groan at the gobsmacked look on his face.

Harry stayed in his corner, blinking rapidly behind the lenses of his glasses. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. Snapping it shut, he cleared his throat and tried again. This time he got the words out. "I'm SO glad you're on our side, Hermione."

Ron exchanged looks with Harry over Hermione's bowed head. "I've said it before, I'll say it again: brilliant but scary. Very, very scary."

Hermione raised her head to shoot Ron a glare, though it lacked any true heat. The look she turned to Harry though was contrite and earnest. "Sorry about that little show of temper, that wasn't exactly what we had in mind for this." At least her little temper tantrum had startled Harry enough to keep him from storming out. His more relaxed demeanor gave her the courage to continue. "We're your friends, you dope. We are always on your side. Let us help you."

Harry leaned his head wearily back against the wall. "No one can help me."

"You don't know that until you tell us, mate."

Harry looked back down at his two best friends in the entire world. "There was a prophecy. It's about the defeat of Voldemort."

Hermione, ever quick to make connections made the leap in logic. "That's was what in the Department of Mysteries behind that door you kept seeing in your dreams."

Harry nodded. "They keep all the true prophecies in this room." His eyes grew distance as he looked back on the memory. "There are thousands of them, all these little, dust-covered spheres just waiting for the right person to claim them." Harry refocused back on his friends. "Dumbledore said that only the people that are a part of the prophecy could unlock them. Voldemort couldn't get into the room, so he led me through my dreams into that room so that I could unlock the prophecy for him."

"Stop," Ron said, causing both Hermione and Harry to turn to him. "If we are getting into prophecies and Voldemort, then we are sitting down." He pointed over to where the Room of Requirement had created the cozy chairs. "Sit."

After they were settled, Ron gestured for Harry to continue. "So what does this prophecy say?"

Harry, looking resigned and weary, closed his eyes and began to repeat the words that haunted him. _"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches . . . Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies . . . And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not . . . And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives . . . The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies."_

"No wonder he always seems to be after you. Blimey Harry, you have to fight and kill Voldemort."

Harry opened his eyes and grinned at Ron, though there was little humor in his expression. "Or he kills me."

The three of them grew silent, this new knowledge weighing heavily on them just as it had on Harry all these months. It was Hermione who broke the silence. "You aren't alone, you know."

"Aren't I?" Harry questioned.

Ron answered his voice emphatic and final. "No, you're not."

Harry pulled one knee up into the chair and rested his elbow on it. "I don't see any of them facing Voldemort."

The anger was back in Harry's voice, simmering strongly just beneath the surface. At least now, Ron and Hermione knew what had been causing the moods and unexplainable tempers that seemed to have plagued their friend for the past months.

Hermione looked at Ron, her expression distressed. She was good at logic and cutting straight down to the heart of matters. But Harry didn't need cold logic right now. He needed something else, and she was at a loss for what to say to make this better. She wasn't even sure there was anything you could say to make this better. Harry needed faith right now, but it was obvious that he'd lost whatever faith he'd had.

It was Ron that found the words. "Just because you don't see them, doesn't mean they don't face him. He may be a great git, but Snape faces him every time he goes out to spy. Dumbledore faced him in the Ministry last year. My entire family, except for that stupid ponce Percy, faces him as Order members. Even Ginny faced him through that bloody book of Malfoy's. Okay, I'll admit that you have to be the one to vanquish him, according to that prophecy, but there are a damn lot of other people, Harry Potter, that are putting themselves in danger to ensure you live long enough to put Voldemort in the ground."

"How many people have sacrificed to keep you safe? How many people have worked to ensure that you had some kind of life? Do you really think that all those people -- the Order, the Aurors, Hermione, Dumbledore, me -- are just going to shove you out the door with a pat on your head and a hearty good luck on taking down the evil wizard? Everyone has been trying to do what is best."

Harry shook his head, dismissing Ron's words, still too caught up in his anger to really listen to what his friend was saying. "Dumbledore kept things from me," he said, as if that somehow explained it all.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Oh, and you've done so well with the knowledge this past year when he gave it to you. Honestly, Harry, do you really think that the headmaster should have told you when you first got to Hogwarts that you were fated to kill the evilest wizard of our time? That would have made a great eleventh year birthday present. If you are going to hold grudges, at least hold honest ones. And then when you are done with that, get it through your thick skull that you aren't alone." Ron gestured between Hermione and himself, "We are not going anywhere."

* * *

**End Chapter 8**

* * *

**The Reviews:**

**snapesepanss, Mebear** – Thank you. I'm trying very hard to keep everyone in character while at the same time show that the characters are growing and changing with their circumstances.

**Jessie Deal** – Jessie, thank you for reading. Glad to hear that the confrontation scene worked for you.

**YSM** – That was a very nice review you left for me. I am trying hard to keep this fresh and different. It is nice to know that it is keeping you entertained. I'm a fan of longer stories that have paced out plots so this one will follow in that tradition. Hopefully I can keep the humor, romance, mystery and adventure going as well. Those are a lot of balls to keep up in the air at once.

**Abear, lovethelab, Kabuki1, vanityfair** – The house-elves were crucial as she can't do it all alone. Rink will be back in later chapters – mostly to help, but also to get Hermione in trouble.

**Vickie211** – You did indeed pick out the part that was new. Brilliant? Me? You make me blush!

**Risi **– Hermione is showing a bit of arrogance in thinking that she can fix all the problems she see, however, she can't help herself. She sees it as a case of "if I don't do it, no one else will." And I can assure you (since I've written some of the chapter already) that when Snape finds out what she has been up to, he will not be amused.

**Oya** – Welcome back from the slash side of things! Although, there is nothing wrong with a little slash now and again. I hope I can keep you on this side of the line at least for the duration of the story. Hermione is not going to be an uber-witch in this story. I'm not a fan of uber-witch Hermione. I like her with human faults and limitations.

**June W** – Give Snape a teddy bear? Haaahhaaa. snort> Did you ever watch Babylon 5? I can see Snape doing to any bear given to him what Sheridan did with his bear.

**Everyone else** – Thank you all for the encouraging notes of feedback. They let me know you guys are enjoying what I'm writing and make me want to provide you with better (and faster) chapters. Alas, I'm slow, so faster is not always an option . . . but I do try.


	9. Ch 9 Convergence

**Chapter 9 - Convergence**

Once again Hermione found herself ensconced in her four-poster bed, thoughts of Professor Snape and Harry weighing heavily on her mind. At least this time, she thought ruefully, she wasn't flat on her back staring up at the canopy. But even that bit of humor wasn't enough to lift her mood.

After Harry's revelation of the prophecy, the three of them had sat and talked well into the night, reaffirming and strengthening the bonds between them. She could only hope that the support she and Ron provided for Harry would be enough; there was still a lot of anger within Harry, and while the bleakness in his eyes had lessoned during their talk, it hadn't gone away. There was also something about his barely controlled anger that made her uneasy. It wasn't the temper itself, because there was no getting around the fact that Hermione had a temper to match. No, it was something about the quality of the anger, almost an alienness that disturbed her and made her uneasy.

But now they knew what Harry faced, and they were preparing to meet it together as they had all their other trials over the years. Knowing it was prophecy that damned Harry, she almost wished she'd stayed in Divination class. Almost. Hermione planned to do a little reading on divination and felt sure that she could learn as much, if not more, from her books than Sybill Trelawney could ever teach her, even if the woman had managed to speak a true prophecy. She still had a hard time believing that bit of news when Harry had told them. Sybill Trelawney, the wispy-voiced fraud in the tower, had managed to speak a true prophecy – she was the seer that had doomed Harry to this path. If the situation were not so dire, the whole thing would be laughable. Unfortunately, no one was laughing.

Pushing thoughts of Harry to the side for a moment, she turned her attention to her other worry, Professor Snape. She wasn't making as much progress with him as she had hoped. She still had not come up with any thoughts on how to combat his poor eating and sleeping habits. Even more worrying was the feeling that time was running out for her. She had never really thought that her S.N.O.R.T. campaign would last this long. It was now almost the end of the school year. Studying and exams would soon be taking up all her time. If she was going to be gone for the entire summer, she wanted to leave Professor Snape at least a little better off before she left.

While she had originally had no plans to carry S.N.O.R.T. into her seventh year, she realized that she would continue. But first, she needed a starting point. She'd set Rink to the task of charting exactly what Professor Snape actually ate. As of yet, the little house-elf had not returned to her. She just hoped that the elf's desire to help the Master of Potions was stronger than its desire to harm itself for doing something it thought would anger Professor Snape. Although, considering the professor's legendary temper, she was rather surprised that Rink wasn't permanently covered in bandages. Not that she thought Professor Snape would, in fact, abuse a house-elf, but she wouldn't put it past Rink to hurt himself if he thought Snape was angry at him.

Glancing at her watch, she noted the time. At a few minutes past eleven, it was well after curfew. It was time. Picking up her wand, she first cast a silencing spell and then one of the less powerful wards around her curtain-enclosed bed. Feeling secure, she spread the Marauders' Map across her bedspread, smoothing out the creases in the old paper.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," she said, while tapping the parchment once with her wand. Like spilled ink, dark lines began spreading across the paper, outlining rooms and hallways and not-so-hidden passageways until the whole of Hogwarts lay before her.

Looking to the headmaster's tower, she noted that, once again, the footprints identified as Albus Dumbledore paced back and forth. Seeing those steps every night, she felt a confused mixture of comfort and anxiety. She had no doubt that the ongoing shadow war with Voldemort weighed heavily on his mind. Seeing those steps let Hermione know that, regardless of the confident front the headmaster put forth to the world, he was deeply worried.

Letting her eyes track across the map, she automatically noted the positions of Filch and Mrs. Norris, Professor McGonagall and several of the other teachers until she finally she found the name she'd been searching for – Severus Snape. As with the proceeding nights that she had done this, Hermione settled down to watch, keeping a firm grip on that impetuous part of her that wanted to sneak out of the Tower and follow the professor around in person.

She spent the next two hours dividing her time between working on her homework and watching the map. When Hermione finally called it quits and turned in for the night, the professor's footsteps still walked in endless circles through the castle.

* * *

Snape should have been grading second year essays. He, also, still needed to get the ingredients out for the first year class tomorrow. He found himself unable, or perhaps the better word would be unwilling, to attend to these requirements of his teaching job. Instead, he rolled two of the sealed vials left with him by Miss Granger between his fingers, watching the contents of each swirl around the insides of the glass.

One vial held a finished potion, acceptable, even if its consistency was slightly too thin, and the pale, greenish color was just a shade too yellow. Still, it would work for its intended purpose, just not be quite as strong as a perfectly brewed example of Rash Relief.

The other vial held what looked like water after bathing a particular dirty child. Although, truth be told, he'd seen many examples of this kind of inept potion brewing since he'd first begun teaching. If the little terrors didn't explode or melt their cauldrons, they made worthless slop such as this. He wouldn't even dignify this swill by calling it a potion.

Something about that thought caught his attention. Setting down the decent potion, he raised the other up to eye level, studying its contents more closely. Once again he tilted the vial, but this time he took a moment to identify the chopped ingredients that swirled within. Then he saw what he was looking for – plantain leaves. The bits of chopped leaves looked uniform, with straight-edged cuts, just as they should. But for the leaves to have never dissolved meant that . . . oh, surely not. That couldn't be the case. It was preposterous. He would have noticed something before now. The Potions masters before him would have noticed something. And yet . . . damn, he was going to have to check now.

Setting down the vial aside, he opened the thick, leather-bound book that held his grading. Early in his career, he'd had a few overly ambitious Slytherins attempt to change their grades. The book was now warded to allow only him to open it and to record grades and notes within it. As a magical book, it had the ability to hold several years worth of information within its slim cover. The current volume held five years worth of Potions classes. If he wished to look back further, he would have to pull his previous grade books. Flipping to the front, Snape began to scan through his grading, reading the notes he'd made on those students who received a daily zero grade for inadequate potions.

* * *

A gentle rapping against his office door alerted Snape that someone wished entrance. Seeing as how that someone had not just barged in, that ruled out both the headmaster and Minerva. Another teacher would have knocked and then opened the door. Glancing at the clock hanging on the wall, and noting the time, he knew exactly who requested entrance.

"Enter, Miss Granger," he said, just loud enough to carry across the room and through the door.

She entered quickly and stood before his desk. He made sure his expression didn't show it, but he was impressed that she appeared calm and composed, her gaze meeting and holding his own as she made her now habitual greeting. Even students that had done nothing wrong were usually nervous and trembling when summoned into his presence. Yet, Miss Granger stood relaxed and calm, the only overt sign of any nervousness, the note requesting her presence, delivered to her earlier, clutched tightly in one balled up fist. The idea that she was seemingly comfortable in his presence was an odd one – yet another thing to add to the growing list of Hermione Granger mysteries.

Seeing that keeping her waiting was not going to discomfit her as it would a normal student, he pointed the chair behind her. "Sit down, Miss Granger."

She settled gracefully in the chair, carefully crossing her legs and smoothing down her robes before folding her hands across her lap. It struck him then, that perhaps Albus had not been as far off the mark as he supposed. Miss Granger, did indeed, seem to be settling into her maturity. Even as he lengthened the silence between them, she did not give in to the temptation of fidgeting or speaking out of turn.

Abruptly he leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desktop and bringing his steepled fingers to rest against his lips. He noted the small jump of reaction his movement caused. That was a better reaction and one he was more familiar with. Her calm wasn't quite as deep as portrayed. That might be . . . useful.

Having enjoyed their last encounter, he decided to open with an attack. "Who brewed the samples you gave me, Miss Granger?"

Brown eyes widened in instant alarm before the girl caught herself. Chin tipped slightly up in defiance now that she knew what this meeting was about, she respectfully denied his request for a name. Unaccountably more amused than angered, he continued the game. It was time to see just how serious Miss Granger really was.

"Miss Granger, as one of your teachers, I have the right, and authority I might add, to demand that you tell me the name of the person who brewed the sample potions. If you do not, I can dock points for willful disobedience and consign you to detentions until the end of the year . . . if I so choose."

Snape was rather surprised to feel a sense of dissatisfaction as her stubborn chin dipped down to her chest at his words. He'd really rather hoped she was made of sterner stuff. It seemed that the puzzle presented by Miss Granger would be solved sooner than he had anticipated. "Now, Miss Gr-"

"No, sir." She grimaced slightly. "Forgive me for interrupting, but I can not tell you."

Rising anticipation warred with outrage at her disobedience as that chin rose up in the air again, a fraction higher than before. "Can not or will not, Miss Granger?" he hissed, voice low with menace. Being an intriguing puzzle would only get her so far.

Again, that grimace crossed her face. He knew that look, had felt the sentiment himself more times than he could count. It was the look of someone stepping into a trap knowing all along that the trap was there and primed to snap closed around them, yet having no other recourse but to step forward anyway.

Straightening her spine to sit up straight, she once again met his gaze. "Will not, sir. I gave my word." She seemed to deflate then, the steel seeping out of her, if not her resolve. "You're not stupid, sir. I realize you have to know that I've been helping students outside of class. The potion vials give evidence of that. I freely admit that I'm leading a specialized Potions study session."

"You are the one helping Longbottom." It was a statement and left her no room for denial. Even if she had tried, he would have known. Gryffindors made particularly bad liars.

She let out a small sigh. "I suppose it would be silly to deny it. Yes, I'm helping Neville."

Now to spring that trap she'd sensed waiting for her earlier. "Yet Mr. Longbottom is not the brewer of the potions you left for me. In fact, I would hazard a guess as to say that this _particular_ problem has never happened to Mr. Longbottom when brewing a potion. Although, I can't say that for every _other_ problem that can arise during potion brewing."

He could see the exact moment when she understood what he was saying. She really needed to learn how to control her emotions better. She was easier to read than an open book.

"You know what caused the problem."

He could see her excitement, the eagerness to learn new information. He nodded. "I do." Then he stopped. It didn't take her long to figure out why. Realization hit like a slap in the face.

"You aren't going to tell me," she accused, her voice rising in outrage.

He finally let loose the smirk that he'd been holding inside. This was turning out even better than he'd anticipated. Knowing that it annoyed her, he raised one eyebrow. "No, I'm not."

"W-Why?" she sputtered.

Oh, yes, definitely better than he'd anticipated. She was actually stuttering she was so irate and quickly losing her façade of calm and collected. "Why? Because Miss Granger, you have tried for six years to impress upon me that you are in fact intelligent." He picked up two of the vials from his desk, one in each hand. Tipping them slowing, he watched her eyes focus on the contents, one good and one bad. "You have the opportunity to finally prove that my assessment of you is wrong. So, I'm going to offer you a . . . challenge."

The girl looked back up at him at the word _challenge_. "Yes, you heard me correctly. I'm offering you a challenge. I will give you one week to identify the problem. If you succeed, I'll return the original seventy-five points that I took from Gryffindor. If you do not succeed, I take another seventy-five points."

For a full thirty seconds she simply sat and stared at him before she finally said, "I've already exhausted the library sources. That is why I came to you in the first place."

He shook his head. "There is your first failing. Not all knowledge can be found between the pages of a book."

"But I'm NOT a Potions master. I don't-"

_Got you, little girl_. "Ten points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger, for your tone," he snapped. "There are no _buts_, there are no _howevers_, there are no _excepts_. You do not need mastery to figure this out."

"But I-"

Snape slammed his hand down on his desk, the force of the blow sending several scrolls clattering to the floor. He ignored them, instead rising out of his chair and using his flattened hand as a brace to lean across the desk. "Are you not listening to me, girl?" he snarled. "You have _all_ the pieces within your grasp. The answer is in front of you. What you need is the ability to observe and extrapolate a hypothesis from what you see. You need to learn how to _think_. A skill, I assure you, very few of your peers possess. Thinking, Miss Granger, is the mark of true intelligence. It is more than the ability to read and remember. Intelligence is about the ability to take what you have read, combine it with your observations, mix in the ability to imagine new possibilities and come up with a new and unique outcome. So far, Miss Granger, I have only ever seen you perform the first, most basic requirement of true intelligence. I do not deny that you have the singular ability to take in what you read and regurgitate it back at will. You may take that as a compliment, for with it you are already one step beyond the rest of the lackwits populating this school. But that is as far as you go. You are a one trick show, Miss Granger, and that is all you will ever be until you learn the difference between simply being an idiot savant and being truly intelligent."

As he sat back down, he noted her stricken expression and barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. However, at the last moment he decided that she did deserve something for her trouble. She was, after all, providing him with more entertainment that he'd had in months. But, it wouldn't do to make it too easy on her. "A riddle then, Miss Granger," he said once he settled himself. "When is a potion not a potion? There, I have given you the clue to what you seek. Now get out of my office. Do not come back until you have the correct answer."

* * *

While Professor Snape taunted Miss Granger with knowledge just out of her reach, Miranda Vector frowned at the series of complex calculations lined up before her. The long, convoluted equations stretched across the almost floor-to-ceiling blackboards that ran around three sides of her workroom. Several smaller, moveable blackboards with their own individual sets of equations stood at odd angles elsewhere in the room. Muttering softly under her breath, she used the sleeve of her robe to erase a set of numbers on the blackboard. As she erased, the pinwheel of intersecting lines that floated in the middle of the room rearranged itself; lines slowly shifting position, some changing their angles while others winked out of existence only to reappear in other locations. Satisfied that she'd erased the numbers needed, Miranda took a quick look over her shoulder at the glowing lines. Studying it carefully, she nodded. "Yes, that's it. This one will work."

Turning back to the board, she consulted a scrap of parchment in her hand before filling in the new numbers. Behind her, the glowing lines once again rearranged themselves with arithmantic precision.

Blowing a bit of hair from her eyes, Miranda smiled at her equation in pride. It was a thing of arithmantic beauty, if she did say so herself -- pure, clean, precise -- as only numbers could be.

Turning around, she eagerly sought the lines.

"Son of a troll!" she exclaimed loudly, slinging her piece of chalk across the room to shatter against the far wall, leaving behind an exploded puff of dust. It was the only wall in the room that did not sport an equation-covered blackboard. The wall instead was marked by small, white, cloud-bursts of chalk dust, many of them overlapping each other to make oddly pleasing flower shapes, as if the wall were blooming dusty white blossoms.

"Miranda?"

Vector looked up from where she was scowling to focus on the headmaster's bemused face. Dumbledore was standing just inside of her doorway and she knew that he had to have both heard and seen her little display of temper. His next words confirmed her suspicion. "I see several more pieces of innocent chalk have sacrificed their lives to the cause."

Vector ran her hands up through her short-cropped curls. "Innocent my arse," she muttered.

Albus raised his shaggy brows in surprise.

"Oh, don't look at me like that. I'm old enough to swear, and you are certainly old enough to hear it. Trust me. This," as she spoke she pointed to the map of colored lines, indicating a spot where all the lines converged, "situation calls for it." Of the dozen or so lines that entered, only a little more than half continued out past the small nexus point.

"Look at this, Albus. I've tried everything I know to do to get a better picture. I've changed the calculations, I've changed the people, the timing, location, everything." As Albus joined her, she raised her wand to touch a shining, gold-hued line of light. "This is the Order." In rapid succession, she tapped other brightly colored lines. "I've broken the equations by both groups and individuals depending on the data I have – Aurors, Death Eaters, the Order, you and Harry Potter. There is some overlap in the individuals and groups, as should be expected. But there is not enough to significantly affect the outcome calculations. At least, not with the data I have so far."

Hesitating slightly, Vector reached forward to touch another line, this time of oily black. "This is He Who Must Not-"

"Say his name, Miranda," Albus interrupted her.

Looking a little shocked, Miranda shook her head. "I don't-"

Albus smiled gently at his Arithmancy teacher. "If you cannot manage Voldement, then call him Tom Riddle."

Miranda shivered at the headmaster's casual use of that name. "Snape is right. You're an evil, old man." Albus seemed unperturbed by her assessment, simply continuing to smile softly at her, blue eyes twinkling with what could only be described as mischief.

Sighing in defeat, she pointed again to the black line hanging in mid-air. "This is . . . Riddle." From the corner of her eye she caught Albus' nod of satisfaction.

Tracing the line forward, she halted her wand before the nexus point where all the multi-colored lines met black. "This will be our final battle."

"How long?" Albus asked, his gentle good humor replaced by a look of weariness.

She gave a small shrug. "The timing fluctuates too much for me to nail down with any kind of precision. While Arithmancy touches Divination, without all the numbers, I can only give you projections, theoretical possibilities and statistical models. I can't give you the future. I suspect that I'm missing a critical piece of data. Once I find that missing key, the fluctuations should stop." Once more she ran a hand up through her hair in a gesture of frustration. "If I had more data, especially on the individuals currently playing a part and that will continue to play a part, I could do more. Trying to work these equations based on groups rather than individuals creates some rather large divergence factors when I get into the higher numbers."

She moved her wand to a line the color of smoke. "Your spy for instance; if you would tell me more of him or her, I might be able to change the equations. Even a name, Albus, would help me refine the arithmantic equations."

Albus shook his head. "You know I can't do that Miranda, as much for my spy's safety as your own."

Miranda sighed in frustration. It was a long-standing argument between the two. Miranda wanted as much information to feed into her calculations as possible. But some information the headmaster refused to divulge; the name and movements of his spy being the most important.

She was pulled from her musings when Albus raised his own wand and pointed to a small line hanging outside of the main convergence. "What is this line here?"

He was pointing to her other point of frustration. She really should have known that Albus would spot and inquire about her wayward anomaly. Miranda blew out a breath. "I don't bloody well know. I can't decide if it's coming from a single equation or if it is being created from a merging of equations. It's small now, but it's been growing." She shrugged slightly. "Nothing I do seems to change its course."

"And what is its course?"

Miranda flicked her wand, and the silvery line pulsed once before elongating. It grew slowly until it paralleled the smoky line representing the unnamed spy for a short distance. Then silver entwined and eventually completely merged with gray until both met at the nexus point. Only the silver line emerged out the other side.

"You have no idea of whom or what the silver line represents?"

She could hear the worry in his voice, but there was nothing she could say to alleviate it. "I don't have a clue."

Albus stroked his hand down the length of his beard as he thought, his eyes never leaving the nexus of lines. "The silver line is always present, no matter the calculation?"

"Always," she answered. "You know how arithmancy is; magic will follow its own path. Muggle mathematicians have it so much easier. I can't imagine adding two and two and always getting four." Miranda shook her head, realizing she was going off on a tangent. Pointing back up to the nexus, she touched the point where silver and grey entered. "The silver line always parallels and eventually merges with the grey. Sometimes sooner, sometimes later, but it always does." She then moved her wand to the far side of the nexus, the point in her diagram that was post battle with Riddle and his followers. "This is the part that changes, sir. Sometimes the line of your spy emerges out of the other side." Miranda lowered her wand. "Most times, only the silver line emerges."

"Miranda?"

"Sir?"

"I need to know what is causing the rogue line." Albus raised up his hand, this time without his wand, to trace a gnarled finger gently along the line, pausing momentarily at the nexus point where the grey line winked out of existence to be replaced only with the silver line "Whoever or whatever it is, it is threatening my spy. I cannot allow that."

A few moments later, the headmaster exited, leaving Miranda alone again with her numbers. She gazed at the visual representation of her arithmantic calculations, her eyes jumping from line to line until she came back to the grey one representing the elusive spy. "Who are you really?" she asked the line. "Are you who I suspect or are you someone else entirely? Let's try a calculation that slants you in a different light and see what happens." Digging one hand into her robe pocket, she pulled forth another piece of chalk as she turned back to her blackboard.

* * *

When is a potion not a potion . . . what kind of stupid clue was that? He was deliberately, with malice aforethought, taunting her. In her more honest moments, Hermione admitted that it was quite masterful taunting, at that. Few things could get her as stirred up as the idea that knowledge was intentionally being withheld from her. To know that he had the answer but was refusing to share it was just infuriating. Then to dangle the lure of regaining her lost seventy-five points. The man was just maddening. "Arrgghh!"

The worst part of it all though was that he had complimented her in a backhanded, Snape sort of way. A compliment . . . how long had she wanted that man to give her a compliment? How long had she longed to hear him praise her mind like her other professors? And now that the words had actually come from him, she found they left behind a rather bitter taste. What good was the compliment, when even with his words of praise, he damned her in the same breath?

"Hermione?"

"What?" she snapped.

"Is there something wrong?"

Hermione turned a baleful eye across the dinner table to Harry. "Why would you think something is wrong?" she asked.

Ron and Harry exchanged glances before Harry said, "Well, maybe because you just . . . growled."

Nodding his head towards her plate, Ron added, "Then there is the fact that you've completely killed your dinner. I don't know what that piece of chicken ever did you, but I'm sure it's real sorry."

"I have no idea-" Hermione trailed off as she looked down and really looked at the roasted chicken on her plate; dozens of fork stabs pierced the meat. It was mangled to the point where it was hard to even tell that it began as a perfect, elf-prepared chicken breast. "Oh," she said faintly.

* * *

Two days later she hit the door to the Potions classroom hard, sure that she finally had the answer, her momentum and weight making it swing back with a faint thump. It was, even with her full weight behind it, only a fraction of the crack that usually preceded Professor Snape's entrance into that classroom. She didn't care that she was being rude and that he would probably dock points for both the noise and for not knocking.

Opening her mouth, she got out "I have" before an obscure reference she'd read months before returned. She halted before her professor, feeling the hot blush of embarrassment suffuse her face.

Professor Snape, bent slightly over a cauldron, without saying a word merely raised an eyebrow.

Spinning on her heel, she stalked back out of the classroom. She could hear laughter behind her, deep and rich. She was too furious with herself to even be shocked at hearing the stoic professor break down in mirth – he was, after all, laughing at her.

* * *

Hermione found Professor Snape in one of the southwest corridors. She fell into step beside him, a daring act for any student. "Puberty," she said. She was sure she had the answer this time.

Professor Snape didn't even slow his steps as he answered. "No."

At his curt answer, her steps faltered but she quickly caught back up with him again. "But, the -"

Turning his head to look down his long nose at her, his voice held just enough mocking sting to make her flush. "Really, Miss Granger, you might actually _look_ at your classmates. Unless you are extremely late bloomers, you should all be beyond puberty. And if it were puberty, wouldn't all of you have had trouble? Do you even use your brains for anything beyond blinking and breathing or do you have to keep a running count in your head in order to keep those straight?"

The outrageousness of that final comment halted her in her tracks, unable to do anything more than stand and stare at his retreating back in disbelief. He was beyond the next turn of the hallway before she roused herself enough to close her mouth. Scowling fiercely at a curious student who eyed her as they passed by, Hermione whirled around and headed off down the corridor in the opposite direction, her student robes swirling out and trailing behind her.

* * *

While Neville and Colin worked on their potions, Hermione contemplated the blackboard that hung on the wall behind the replica of Professor Snape's desk. Arse planted against the desk edge, arms crossed and scowl firmly in place, Hermione drummed the fingers of one hand continuously against her arm.

She'd stared at the board so long that its information felt permanently imbedded in her brain. The board had begun with neat, ordered rows of information – student names, the number of years that potions had gone wrong, and when possible, the name of the potion that had gone wrong. The board was no longer neat. Instead, crisscrossing the columns were multiple lines of colored chalk highlighting possible connections. Those lines had been added, erased and added again, leaving the original column information hard to pick out.

The answer was here. Hermione knew it, felt it in the pit of her stomach, but damned if she could see the connection. And tomorrow was the last day of Professor Snape's challenge.

_Fudge_. And she didn't mean the Minister of Magic.

Turning slightly, she spoke over her shoulder. "Colin, are you sure you've given me everything?"

Colin looked up at the question but didn't stop his constant stirring. "That's everything, Professor Granger-Snape. I talked to as many people as I could in Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, just like you asked. I even tried to talk to some of the younger Slytherins, but, well, you know, they just stuck their noses in the air and refused to talk to a _Mudblood_ like me," he said, his voice twisting on the hated slur.

Even before Hermione could say something, Neville spoke up from where he was adding diced slugs to his potion. "Don't let them get to you, Colin. We don't all believe in the pureblood dogma they spout."

Colin flashed a grin in Neville's direction, his own natural good humor quickly reasserted itself. "Thanks, Neville."

Neither boy noticed Hermione as she slowly straightened up from her slouched position. Both however took note when she screamed, "You have got to be kidding me!"

"Hermione, everything okay?" Colin asked.

"I'm fine." She ran her fingers up through her hair, tousling the spell-blackened curls into a wild halo. "No," she amended, "I take that back. I'm not fine. This doesn't make any sense. It didn't affect me, and Harry's not, but he was . . . oh. When is a potion not a potion? When it's not a potion! My God! It makes perfect sense now."

Spinning around, she grabbed her notes from the top of the desk and took off toward the door muttering under her breath. The two young men were left to stare at one another. Finally Colin asked, "How far do you think she'll get before she realizes that she's still dressed as Professor Snape?"

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**End Chapter 9**

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**The Reviews:**

**Risi** – Thanks for your words on Ron. I like to think that he is more than just the buffoonish sidekick that most fics portray him as. In fact, Ron will be instrumental in this little story. As for Vector, I hope this chapter gave you more information on why she is suddenly so interested in Snape.

**ValoAnkea** – Don't worry, I have no intention of abandoning the story. It is actually plotted out in outline form all the way to the last chapter. And have no fear, as the story progresses there will be more Snape/Hermione interactions.

**duj** – From our POV, Hermione is a long time rulebreaker, but from her point of view, I don't think she sees herself as a rulebreaker, or at least when she breaks them they are not broken for her. It is usually done for the 'greater good.' In this instance, it was for her own curiosity.

**Vegiegurl **– Thanks for the nice compliments on the fic. I am trying to keep it somewhat original. As for rushed, I like long, slow fics and this one is definitely going to fit that bill.

**Noctu** – I fear that you might want to stop reading now before you waste any more of your time on this story. It is most definitely headed in the direction of SS/HG as a pairing. That said, I will not be making Snape over into some kind of foppish romantic, nor will Hermione turn into either a shrew or a doormat, so if your general objection to SS/HG 'ship stories is based on those fears, you might give the story a chance. However, if even the thought of SS/HG makes you gag too much, I'm at least glad that Snape poisoning his students amused you.

**Why not** – I hope this chapter answered your question about what is up with Vector. We will be seeing more of her.

**Vickie211** – There is indeed tons more story to come. I've got about a dozen dangling plot threads and they all have to be tied into a big bow before the end of the story – Snape's illness, Hermione's help, Colin's problems, Vector's involvement, Neville and Little Sev, Harry's issues, the final battle, Rink the house-elf – and those are just the big ones.

**Oya** – Uber is usually defined as the ultimate, above all, the best, top, something or someone that nothing is better than. So in the sense that I used it before to say that I would never make Hermione into an uber-witch, I meant that I don't subscribe the fic notion that Hermione is super powerful. She isn't going to be beautiful and powerful and always right or brave or know everything. I like my Hermione being normal – smart but normal.

**Jessie Deal** – I hope you liked my favorites. I've pretty much enjoyed all those stories.

**vanityfair** – Snape will eventually figure out what Hermione is doing but not for a while.

**June W** – Yep, Snape indeed took those 75 points from Hermione. We'll have to see if she gets them back. And I'll give you a clue – it won't be a teddy bear that combats his sleep but it will be something close . . . stay turned to next chapter.

**Everyone Else** – You guys have no idea how much dancing in my seat I do when I read your reviews. I know that this chapter took a little longer, but the good news is that chapter 10 is almost complete.


	10. Ch 10 Explanations

_This fic has been kindly beta read by queenp and Keladry. You have them to thank for the proper use of commas._

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**Chapter 10 - Explanations**

Scheduling the Potions study class with Neville and Colin immediately after dinner meant that by the time they finished most students were already in their common rooms for the evening. Hermione had specifically chosen that time to ensure they would be both uninterrupted and less likely to be seen by curious fellow students. Now, only that lateness of hour allowed Hermione to get as far as she did before being noticed. Being completely wrapped up in the triumph of her discovery, she had practically flown through the hallways of Hogwarts, intent only on reaching her goal of Professor Snape's office. The surety of her knowledge burned within her and lent speed to her steps. She was not focusing on the halls around her, nor was she particularly looking where she was going, which is how Hermione found herself in front of an astonished-looking Professor Vector.

It was the look of total shock on her Arithmancy teacher's face that clued Hermione in that something was wrong. Thinking she had something on her clothes, Hermione glanced down at herself to try and figure out what had stunned her teacher to such an extent. She was horrified to see she was still dressed as Professor Snape, from the tips of her black, chunky-heeled boots to the black curls that swung into her line of sight as she looked down. _Oh, God!_

"Professor Vector . . .I can . . . please don't . . . Professor Snape . . . not . . . " She was babbling, a dozen different thoughts all trying to get out of her mouth at once. _I can explain. Please don't tell Professor Snape. It's not what it looks like._ Yet none of them were making it past a few disjointed words.

Vector was still staring at her like she'd never seen Hermione before, a reaction that was making her more nervous with each passing second and causing the words to tumble from her mouth even faster.

Abruptly, Professor Vector seemed to snap out of her daze. "Come with me, Miss Granger," she said, interrupting Hermione mid-stream.

Heart pounding, Hermione obediently followed along as her professor slipped into one of the old classrooms that lined the hallway. Once inside with the door firmly shut, Vector said, "Put your papers down." When Hermione complied, Vector then pointed towards the middle of the room. "Stand," she ordered.

Without a word, Hermione followed her instructions.

Once in place, Hermione tried to explain. "Please, Profes-"

Vector raised a hand, cutting her off. Hermione's nervousness hit new heights as her professor began to slowly circle around her.

"Remarkable. Absolutely remarkable. The level of detail in the Glamour . . . you've even got it down to the level of the engravings on the buttons."

Hermione's nervousness became confusion. Professor Vector didn't sound angry. It sounded, almost, as if her teacher were impressed.

On Vector's next circuit, she asked, "Has Professor Flitwick seen this?"

That brought forth an emphatic, "No!" The very thought of another teacher being aware of her dressed like this made the sick feeling in the pit of Hermione's stomach increase ten-fold.

Vector, however, didn't seem to understand Hermione's horror at the question. She instead shook her head in a regretful manner. "Shame. He'd be quite impressed." Stopping her circling when she stood in front of Hermione once again, she added with a more serious expression, "Although he'd be the only one impressed, I'm afraid. Do you have death wish of some sort?"

Hermione blanched. "Please Professor, let me explain. It's not what you think. It not what _he_ would think either, if he saw me like this." There was no need to explain who the 'he' in question was.

Pulling out her wand, she voiced the Glamour's reversal spell, tapping her wand lightly on the top of her head, then on her closed eyelids, and finally on her chest as she did so.

Once again, she heard Vector murmur a quiet, "Remarkable."

At one time, hearing the admiration in a teacher's voice at a spell she created would have sent a feeling of pride through Hermione. Now, though, she felt more like she wanted to throw up. She certainly wasn't feeling very remarkable at the moment. Terrified was a more accurate description. If Professor Vector decided to tell Professor Snape . . . _oh, God._

Hermione's vision swam and black spots floated before her eyes. "I think I need to sit down." Stumbling slightly, she settled into an old desk chair, her face cradled in the palms of her upturned hands.

She was vaguely aware of Vector still being in the room with her, but her mind was now firmly showing her the disaster that would have occurred had she made it down to Professor Snape's office dressed as him. A disaster that could still happen if Professor Vector decided to march her down to the dungeons without letting her explain. Everything would be ruined. She knew with absolute certainty that, under these circumstances, Professor Snape would _never_ believe she wasn't mocking him or setting him up for some type of ridicule. The sick feeling within her stomach twisted again at the thought that he might think that she would attempt to humiliate him somehow.

"You, Miss Granger, look as if you could use a spot of tea. Come to think of it, now that I've seen what Severus Snape would look like as a woman, I think I need a spot of tea, as well."

Hermione made a noise of assent but didn't raise her face from her hands.

Vector turned away from Hermione. "Anila," she said loudly to the empty air. A moment later, a muted _pop _announced the arrival of a house-elf.

"Rink is sorry, Mistress. Anila cannot serve. Rink will serve in Anila's place. How can Rink serve the honored Mistress?"

At the house-elf's words, Hermione's head shot up to stare in horror at Rink. Rink served Professor Snape. Why was he here? Was Rink about to give away even more of her secrets?

Rink, however, ignored Hermione, his gaze focused solely on the Arithmancy teacher.

"Please bring us a pot of tea, Rink."

Rink bowed and disappeared only to return a minute later carrying a tray. In addition to the requested tea, a small selection of biscuits and petit fours adorned a small plate.

Feeling too sick to eat, Hermione concentrated on sipping the tea that Professor Vector had poured for her. Looking up, she found Vector eyeing her with a speculative gleam in her blue eyes that made Hermione even more nervous. Tightening her fingers around the warmth of her china cup, Hermione took a deep breath before she began to try to explain. "This isn't what it looks like, Professor. I am leading an outside Potions study group with some students that are having difficulty with Potions." In an attempt to reassure the other professor of her good intentions, she quicly added, "Professor Snape is aware that I'm helping some students."

"But I take it he doesn't know about your attire?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, ma'am. But it wasn't done to make fun of Professor Snape. I wouldn't do that, Professor." Hermione's gaze drifted back down to her teacup where she studied the black flecks of tea leaves floating in the bottom. "Not to him," she added softly. Her attention focused on her cup, Hermione missed Professor Vector's raised eyebrows at her words.

"You see, some of the students, well, they are afraid of Professor Snape. Just the sight of him terrifies them." Raising her head back up, she continued. "I've been dressing and acting like him in my study sessions. That way when they deal with me, they see him."

Vector nodded thoughtfully. "And when they deal with Professor Snape," she said, completing the thought, "they see you and are not as afraid. Clever."

Hermione ducked her head, not sure if she was supposed to respond to that. Fortunately, Vector didn't seem to expect one, but instead asked another question. "Miss Granger, I'm going to take it that wandering the hallways dressed as you were was not your intent?"

Hermione felt her cheeks heat from her flush of embarrassment. "No, Professor, that was not my intent." She ran a finger around the lip of the teacup in her hand. "Professor Snape gave me a puzzle to work on. He called it a challenge and gave me a week's deadline. I've been working on it all week, and tomorrow is my last day. Just moments ago I figured out the solution. I was so intent on getting to Professor Snape to share what I'd found that I . . . well, I wasn't thinking about anything else."

The words were no sooner out of her mouth, when she brought the heel of her hand up to smack against her forehead. "Stupid," she exclaimed. "How could I have been so stupid?"

Vector, Hermione noted, was looking at her oddly again, so Hermione tried to explain. "I've been a complete dunderhead. The whole point of Professor Snape's challenge was to get me to _think_. I figured out the problem, but then I stopped thinking and just reacted. I figured out the puzzle but failed the test."

Vector gave a small chuckle. "I think maybe you are being a little hard on yourself, Hermione. The excitement of discovery often leads to a little rash behavior."

At another time and place, Hermione would have leapt at the understanding and absolution Vector was offering. Hermione, though, was still ready to metaphorically kick herself. "I don't think so, Professor, at least not when I'm dressed in a manner that could potentially hurt Professor Snape."

Hermione had spent so much of her time trying to come up with ways to protect, nurture and make Professor Snape's life better that she didn't realize how odd her statement sounded coming from a student, a Gryffindor student at that.

Vector, however, did notice, though she did not say anything. Instead, she addressed the original issue of Hermione's Snape-based attire. "Miss Granger, it's late and close to curfew. You said that Professor Snape gave you until tomorrow?" At Hermione's nod, she continued. "Then tomorrow will be soon enough. I won't take points since your intent was not to harm, but I think that it is better that this evening, you return to your common room."

Hermione gave her a grateful smile. "Yes, ma'am. Thank you." Gathering up her notes again, Hermione let herself out of the classroom.

Behind her Vector began a frantic search through her pockets until she came up with a folded scrap of parchment and her favorite Muggle vice – a much-loved, and chewed-upon, pencil. With focused concentration, Miranda started making Arithmantic notations on her piece of parchment. Her formulas and numbers bleeding into each other as she attempted to squeeze as many of her thoughts onto the paper as possible. Like any good theorist, she could picture the basic equations in her head and see the visual representations of those equations.

Miranda was well aware of what the excitement of sudden discovery felt like. It felt like a number that made an equation balance. It felt like perfect symmetry. It felt like a statistical model that answered every question. It felt like suddenly understanding, without knowing how or why, that Hermione Granger would play an important role in the coming confrontation.

It felt good.

Notes jotted down, she stuffed parchment and pencil back into her robe pocket. She needed to get back to her workroom. She had equations to flesh out and new numbers to run.

* * *

Hermione had slept poorly after Professor Vector sent her back to her common room and to bed. Her body's restless energy and her mind's continual circling to both her solution and her stupidity in walking out dressed as Professor Granger-Snape kept her from peaceful dreams. But tired or not, she had to admit that the distancing had done her good. Her thoughts were more ordered and focused now. Even beyond the whole clothes issue, if she'd seen the Potions professor last night, she would have fumbled her words and explanation, and he would have been less than impressed. 

She wanted to impress him. But even more than that, she wanted him to really _see_ her and think her worthy of his regard.

She was calm. She was confident. She was ready.

When the door to Professor Snape's office abruptly opened, she realized that maybe she wasn't as ready as she thought. She really wasn't ready when he arched a raven-black brow and asked if she was planning to guard his door with the same devotion as the gargoyle guarded the Headmaster's.

And ready or not, Hermione found herself, once again, ensconced in that surprisingly comfortable chair across from Professor Snape's desk while he stared at her.

When it looked like he was simply going to stare at her, she decided to start the conversation. "I know why all the potions failed."

Again that black brow swept up. "Do tell, Miss Granger."

"They aren't potions. That's the answer to your riddle: when is a potion not a potion? The answer is when it is NOT a potion. It's a collection of potions ingredients that never _became_ a potion."

She paused, trying to gauge his reaction. She knew she was right this time, but still the smallest of doubts nibbled at her, nibbles that were quickly becoming bites at Professor Snape's impassive expression.

She gave a small start when he finally inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Continue."

At that single word a grin spread across her face and small shiver of barely contained excitement worked its way down her spine causing her to give a small hop where she sat.

In tones as dry as the Sahara, he asked, "Should I give you a few moments to get the giddiness out of your system?"

"No sir," she responded, the grin on her face contradiction her words. "Well, maybe, sir," she said, laughter creeping into her words.

Professor Snape was frowning at her. Taking a deep breath, she held it for a moment before letting it out. Schooling her face into more serious lines, she gave him a small smile. "My apologies, sir. I'm good now."

Deciding that getting on with her explanation was the wisest course, Hermione rifled through her documents, looking for her chart of students and potions. Rising from her chair she placed the parchment on Snape's desk so he could see it.

"Well, you must know that I had only the one example of someone's potion not coming out correct." Remembering just in time that she had secrets to keep, she said, "I had confirmation that someone else had the same issue, but that he grew out of it." She shook her head. "I think that is what threw me -- the person currently having the problem wasn't growing out of it. I'd tried the library, but I didn't even have a point to begin looking for the answer. That's when I came to you."

She flashed her teacher another small smile before turning back to the paper. "It took me a while before I found the right track."

"Which was?"

Caught up in her discovery, she thought nothing of leaning across the desk surface to point to elements of her chart as she talked. "I ended up polling the other houses. I thought that maybe there would be some kind of pattern or clue. If maybe everyone was in Gryffindor, or if it was always a specific potion that went awry." She pointed down to a particular column. "You can see the students polled here, crossed referenced by House and potion. It didn't make much sense until I realized that everyone affected was Muggle-born, or in Harry's case, had been raised by Muggles. Somehow they aren't making potions. That's what's wrong. The results are no different than if a Muggle were to mix the ingredients together. That is the ultimate answer to your riddle -- the magic is missing."

That earned a small nod from her professor. "Correct, Miss Granger." His face twisted as if he'd tasted something sour. "While it pains me to do so, I believe that the agreed upon number between us, was seventy-five points to Gryffindor."

She registered his words, but waved them off with an unconscious movement of her hand. She was on the cusp of learning something larger and the mere thought of points was inconsequential to the knowledge before her. Bottom lip pulled between her teeth, she wondered if he would explain a few of her other questions or dismiss her.

She barely registered his somewhat startled blink at her dismissal of the points. But really, what good were points compared to understanding? She was much more concerned with whether or not he'd continue talking with her.

"Ask, Miss Granger?" The words with said with an exasperated sigh. "And sit back down."

She made haste to take her seat again. "Ask, sir?" Even she could hear the hopeful undertones in her voice.

Professor Snape settled back in his chair with a small roll of his eyes. "You have additional questions you wish to ask." He raised a finger before she could respond. "Don't deny it, girl. You always have additional questions," he added with a smirk. "I am feeling magnanimous at the moment. I suggest you take advantage of the situation before I toss you out."

Uncertain as to what had precipitated her good fortune, Hermione nevertheless leapt to take full advantage of the question-asking bounty just gifted to her. Eyes gleaming with excitement she sat forward in her chair. "The magic is missing, which is causing the problem. The part I don't understand is why? Or why some people are affected and other aren't or why most, but not all, seem to grow out of it by their fourth year."

"Do you remember our discussion concerning Affinity?"

"Yes, sir."

"What did I tell you then about your lack of knowledge concerning the wizarding world?"

Not quite seeing what their previous discussion had to do with potion making, Hermione nevertheless recited back to him his words regarding Affinity. "That because I wasn't raised in the wizarding world, there would always be things that I wouldn't know until they were explained to me."

"Correct. The wizarding world makes assumptions that you understand the way some things work because it is knowledge that everyone knows – so common that no additional explanation is required."

She scooted a little closer to the edge of her seat. "But we Muggle-borns are missing something here. Something important."

The professor nodded gravely. "So, tell me, Miss Granger, you have deduced when a potion is not a potion. But what of the opposite situation? What makes a potion? How is the magic introduced?"

"I -" Hermione stopped as she abruptly realized she didn't know. Slowly, she began again, her tone thoughtful and her eyes downcast as she sought to unravel the puzzle. "I don't know. I've always just followed the instructions. I don't think I've ever consciously tried to put magic into something I was brewing." She looked up then, still following the thought. "But there is more to it than that. A Muggle could follow the same instructions, but they wouldn't create a potion." She paused again, once again biting at her lower lip as she worked to put the pieces together, to _think_, as this man wanted her to. "On our first day of Potions class, you said there would be no foolish wand-waving in your class."

"I did."

"But for the Muggle-borns, that is all we've been taught. Magic is done with wands. No one has ever mentioned any other way to perform magic. Some people get it right unconsciously. I am _infusing_ my potion with my magic when I brew, but even I don't know how I'm doing it. It's an accident that my potions have worked so far. I could have been just like the others. I don't know what it is I'm doing. I don't know _how_ I'm infusing my potions with magic."

A scowl graced the Potions master's face. "Yes, a serious lack in the curriculum that I will be addressing."

"But, how?" she persisted.

Exasperation was starting to seep into his words. "But how, Miss Granger? How what?"

Words seemed to tumble out of her in her haste to speak before he lost all patience with her. "Magic with a wand is something Muggle-borns can understand. You can see the wand movements and hear the incantation. How do you teach someone how to infuse a potion with magic when there is nothing to see?

At the aggrieved expression that flashed across Professor Snape's face, Hermione felt sure that she had crossed the delicate line of truce between them. While she had not completely understood his motivations in giving her this challenge or in allowing her to regain her lost points, she had understood that he was giving her an amount of respect that was not usually extended to mere students.

Feeling that she'd just found the edge of his tolerance, she quickly dropped her eyes and backpedaled. "Forgive me, sir. I didn't mean to pester you."

He harrumphed. "Yes, you did."

The words were stark and rather harsh, but they were delivered in a wry note of amusement that lifted her dampened spirit.

"Stand up, Miss Granger."

Curious as to what he planned, she did as directed and found herself facing eleven inches of polished ebony wand, held in the firm grip of a man with a less than stellar past and reputation. Feeling like she was again facing a test, she smiled at the man standing across from her. She did not ask what he intended, nor what spell he was about to cast on her. Instead she verbally acknowledged the growing belief in him that had been building since she began her S.N.O.R.T. campaign. "Whenever you are ready, Professor."

He narrowed his eyes at her for a moment and then cast his spell. "_Vere Veneficus_."

The wand movements, she noticed, were intricate and stylized, involving both wrist and finger movements. Her mind automatically translated the words, her Latin rough but serviceable. With the spell, he named her _Real Witch_, or maybe _True Witch_.

Taking a moment to assess herself, Hermione decided she didn't feel any different. Looking down, she let out a small gasp as she realized she looked decidedly different. She was glowing. Spots of luminous color adorned her body. The lowest glowing spot was a few inches below her navel, the next slightly higher and seemed to emanate from her upper stomach, right below her breasts, the third centered over her heart. She could just catch a glimpse of a glow coming from her throat. She twisted slight to look behind her and was not surprised to see another glowing spot over her lower back.

Chakra points. Professor Snape's spell had illuminated the chakra points, or energy nodes, on her body. She knew, even though she couldn't see them, that two other spots of glowing color were centered over her brow and the top of her head. She also noticed that from each node highlighted by the spell, a twisting line of energy snaked out and flowed down her arm to center in the palm of her wand hand. The glow there pulsed in time with her heartbeat.

"Take out your wand and cast a spell, Miss Granger."

Eager to see what the lines of power would do, she wasted no time in pulling out her wand. Pointing it at the chair, she gave the correct swish and flick and said, _"Wingardum Leviosa._" The chair, in response to her magic command, rose to hover two feet above the ground. Hermione, however, wasn't paying any attention to the chair. She was concentrated only the glowing chakra points and the associated lines of power that led down to her wand hand. She could _see_ the magic. It pulsed and twisted and flowed down her arm and into her wand. Colors – red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple and silver – flashed and intermingled as she held the chair aloft.

Mesmerized by this visual representation of her magic, Hermione absently lowered the chair and terminated the spell, completely enthralled at how the visual representation of her magic changed and moved. The smile she turned on Professor Snape felt as if it extended from ear to ear. "That was beautiful," she breathed softly.

Snape indicated her vacated seat, and she promptly sat back down, with her attention once again focused on him. "That, Miss Granger, is how I will show the Muggle-born students where they are going wrong. It is a spell that most purebloods cast on their offspring at the first signs of their emerging powers. It gives the nascent witch or wizard a visual representation of their magic." He nodded to her still-glowing wand hand. "It also makes the idea of infusing the ingredients you are preparing, and the potion you are brewing with your magic, a fairly easy concept to grasp."

"Brilliant." Hermione was smiling again and couldn't seem to control it. She thought Professor Snape looked rather shocked at her assessment, but it was hard to tell as his expression slid from the slightly less guarded one he had been wearing, back to full Potions master impassivity.

"Quite," he answered, smooth tones rolling over her. "I must inform you that the spell can not be canceled but must wear off on its own. That should be in approximately two hours. I would suggest you use the time during which it is still active to explore the magic within you."

Hearing the unvoiced dismissal, Hermione rose to her feet and gathered her documents. Stopped at the door to his office, she turned and gave him another bright smile. "Thank you, sir."

He gave her a slight nod before shutting the door behind her.

With her back to the door, Hermione finally let the triumph she felt bubble up from inside of her. At the sound of her ringing laughter echoing off the stone walls, though, she quickly clamped a hand over her mouth. It certainly wouldn't do to annoy her professor into taking back those seventy-five points.

Catching sight of her glowing middle, she let one lone little giggle escape. She had some experimenting to do.

* * *

Severus closed the door behind Miss Granger. Three inches of aged oak were not enough to completely muffle the peal of laughter that rang out from the other side. He had no doubts about the source of her merriment. She'd just won a major victory here. She'd both answered his challenge and earned Gryffindor seventy-five points from him. Heading back to his desk and his lesson plans, he shook his head. He didn't think he'd ever awarded Gryffindor that many points in a month, much less in a single day. 

Picking up his quill, he twisted it idly between his fingertips remembering Miss Granger's casual dismissal of the points. He'd been momentarily surprised at that. There were always those students who outgrew the points system but he had not pegged Miss Granger as being one with her desire for order and structure. He did wonder how she would explain the sudden point jump though, if she explained at all. An outraged MInerva had never accosted him so he'd known that Miss Granger had neither complained about nor explained the original seventy-five points loss. If Minerva never came to gloat about the point acquisition, then he would know if the girl was continuing to keep her silence.

Not that he ultimately cared one way or another. House points were, after all, just one more way to control the little blighters and annoy Minerva. He had no doubt that Gryffindor would find a way to way to win the House Cup this year as it had for the last five. He grimaced slightly. Albus, he knew, would see to that. Merlin forbid, that Potter exit Hogwarts without Gryffindor winning. His grimace turned into silent snarl. And they had the nerve to say he was biased in his awarding of points.

Letting out a huff of breath, he let the anger go. Railing against the inevitable would get him nowhere.

Raising the quill he brushed the feathered tip rhythmically against his jaw as he thought about the girl that had just left his office. He'd been surprised, and yet not surprised, that she had figured out the problem with the Muggle-born students.

He would have to remember to discuss that situation with Albus. For something so blindingly simple to have occurred for so long . . . it was simply inexcusable. Albus would need to speak with the Headmasters of the other magical schools to ensure they understood the nature of the problem. Durmstrang enrolled no Muggle-borns but he knew both Beauxbatons and the Salem Academy followed more open policies.

Yes, Miss Granger continued to both intrigue and amuse him. He'd always enjoyed a good puzzle. She was proving to be very puzzling, indeed.

* * *

For the next week Hermione broke out in that same wide grin every time she saw a student glowing with the _Vere Veneficus_ spell. Professor Snape had been true to his word and had taken care of the problem. Every one of his Potions students from first up to seventh year had the spell cast at them. The pureblooded and half-blooded students shrugged and went on with their day, but the effect on the Muggle-borns was nothing less that amazing. 

Colin brought her reports from those Muggle-born students that he had originally interviewed. All of them now understood where they were going wrong in their potions.

And in not one class did Professor Snape offer an explanation for his use of the spell. He took no credit, he sought no praise, nor did his demeanor of unfeeling, uncaring, greasy git change one iota.

Hermione watched it all. At the end of the week, she redoubled her efforts at finding a way to help Professor Snape. She was more convinced than ever that he did indeed deserve everything she could do to respect, help and protect him.

* * *

Hermione glanced at her watch and yawned. It was almost two o'clock in the morning. Doing a quick scan of the Marauders' Map, she noted that Professor Dumbledore had finally gone to bed. Professor Snape's footsteps, however, were still moving. 

Did the man never sleep? Stifling another yawn, Hermione watched as Professor Snape's footsteps bypassed the turn that would lead him down into the dungeons, and instead took the corridor that led towards the trophy room and Hufflepuff territory. She now understood where Professor Snape had gained the reputation for being a vampire. She'd always thought it was the pale skin and all-black clothing. Hermione was now convinced it was because the man didn't sleep at night. Ever. It was insomnia taken to an extreme. She had no idea how Professor Snape even functioned on as little sleep as he seemed to get.

Stretching her arms up over her head, Hermione felt her spine crack and pop as she stretched out the hours of bad posture. Letting out another big yawn, she stacked up the various books she had been flipping through before pushing them down to the end of her bed.

Professor Snape had told her that the answer to Colin's problem could not be found in a book. She had believed him. That didn't mean that her other problems couldn't be solved with research. She was reading up on insomnia, sleeping potions, and dreaming spells. Unfortunately, she wasn't having much luck.

Truth be told, she was tired of thinking. She was tired of trying to think. Mostly though, she was just tired. Grabbing her wand, she tapped the map and said, "Mischief Managed." Once it was again looking like a blank piece of parchment, she carefully folded it and stored it under the stack of books at the end of her bed. She felt quite in the knowledge that no one but she would ever pick up _Poisoned Apples, Glass Coffins and Spindles: Traditional Sleeping Spells Through the Ages._

She really had to quit watching Professor Snape through the Map. Each night her curiosity propelled her to watch him a little longer until she was now getting only a few more hours of sleep than he was. Hermione shifted her shoulder to burrow under the cover of her soft down comforter. Considering she had nearly fallen asleep in Professor Flitwick's class that afternoon, she decided that tomorrow night she would not open the Map, and she would, instead, get a full night's sleep. If she didn't, she was afraid that one morning she would fall asleep in her porridge in the Great Hall.

She let out a deep breath and sank even further into her soft sheets. As sleep closed in on her, Hermione spared one last thought for Professor Snape, who was, even now, still walking the corridors of the school. It was such a shame that the poor man was denied the absolute joy of a good sleep.

She could almost hear Morpheus calling her name, pulling her gently into the realm of dreams. It was, therefore, completely understandable that she panicked as a sudden, heavy weight landed forcibly across her middle, pinning her beneath the covers. Opening her eyes to see a shadowed shape moving above her, Hermione let out a startled scream. Reacting instinctively, she fought to throw off both the covers and the weight pinning her down while grabbing for her wand. Feeling her hand close against cool wood, Hermione yelled "_Lumos,_" and found herself eyeball to blinking eyeball with Rink.

From outside the closed bed curtains, the sleep-slurred voice of Lavender Brown broke the mutual stare. "'Ermione. S'all right?"

Seeing Rink about to say something, Hermione tackled the little elf, clamping her hand down over his mouth before he could speak. "Fine, Lavender. Nightmare. Go back to sleep."

"O . . . kay," came the reply, broken by a yawn.

Sleepiness now burned away in the rush of fear-induced adrenaline, Hermione cast a quick silencing spell around her bed while still keeping her other hand clamped tight over Rink's mouth. Forgetting for a moment the customary house-elf reaction to perceived disapproval, Hermione hissed, "Rink, what are you doing here?"

She immediately regretted her harsh tone as Rink's eyes welled up with tears. _Oh, for Heaven's sake!_

Gentling her voice, she awkwardly patted Rink on one bony shoulder. "Don't do that, Rink. I didn't mean to yell at you. You just scared me. I wasn't expecting you."

Rink, however, was having none of her apology, as large tears began rolling down his face. When he began to rock back and forth and keen in a voice that could shatter glass, Hermione was ever so grateful that she had put up the silencing spell.

"Rink is a bad elf. Rink has scared the Young Miss. Rink must be punished."

Tired, cranky, and so not prepared to deal with house-elf hysterics, Hermione did something that, under normal circumstances, she would never have even considered. Desperate times, though, called for desperate measures.

Borrowing the Potions master's more exasperated tones, Hermione interrupted Rink's litany of his faults. "Rink, if you are punished will you stop?"

At the elf's ear-flapping nod, Hermione pulled her pillow around from behind her. Smoothing the cotton fabric that covered the down-filled pillow, she placed it directly in front of Rink. "Here," she said. "Beat your head against this three times."

Rink stared at her for a moment and then completed his punishment.

Rubbing wearily at her eyes, she shifted herself to sit cross-legged under the covers. "Now that that is out of the way, why are you here?"

Still snuffling a bit, Rink favored Hermione with a big grin. "Rink has done as Hermy asks."

_Hermy? Did she even want to know?_ Curiosity won out in the end, as it usually did. "Hermy?" she asked.

Rink nodded solemnly. "Miss wishes to serve as a house-elf. Hermione," Rink said, taking care to say her name very carefully and with great precision, "is not a house-elf name. Hermy is a good elf name. Hermy is a name to be proud of. Hermione is Young Miss. Hermy serves the Master of Potions with Rink."

Well, she thought, it wasn't any worse than 'Mione or Herms or Her-mo-ninny.

Rink snapped his fingers and a scroll of parchment appeared in his hand. "Rink has taken notes on Master of Potions' food and drink as Hermy has asked." Rink shook his head sadly. "Master is not eating as Master should. Rink has failed Master of Potions." With great care, Rink presented the scroll to Hermione. "Hermy will help the Master, and Rink will help Hermy."

Presented with that kind of faith, Hermione mentally threw up her hands in defeat. Who needed sleep anyway? Unrolling the scroll, she brightened the _Lumos_ spell to give them more light. "Okay, Rink, show me what you've got."

* * *

With a sigh Hermione put her forehead down on the cool wood of the library table, her hair falling down around her face to shield her within a curly brown waterfall. Rink's information on Professor Snape's eating habits was telling but she still had no idea on how to tackle that problem. Instead she'd turned to his insomnia. Now after weeks of diligent searching,she'd found nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. She couldn't help feeling that it was an affront to her, the Hogwarts library, and to the universe in general. She sighed again. Okay, maybe not the whole universe, but definitely her small corner of it. 

She'd looked in every book she could think of and spent a considerable amount of time combing through magical references searching for the kind of spell she wanted. She'd found lots of spells and charms and even potions that put a person to sleep, everything from Sleeping Beauty's curse to trapping a dreamer in a never-ending nightmare. Nothing came close to what she wanted though.

Granted, she wasn't sure herself of exactly what she wanted, she just knew that the final product had to meet certain criteria. It had to be gentle and easily broken by the sleeper. She didn't want to trap her professor in sleep and have him unable to awaken if he was needed. She wanted something that would ease that insomnia that he was notorious for, and promote restfulness while giving a sense that he was protected and cared for.

Not to mention, all of this had to be done at so low a magic level as to be practically undetectable. Strong spells would set off every paranoid instinct in the Potions master's body. It had to be so harmless and delicate that even Salazar Slytherin himself would have been impressed with its subtlety.

And she couldn't find a blasted thing. The charms were either too noticeable or too strong. She'd failed, and failure left her frustrated, annoyed, and face-down on her desk. She was pathetic.

She ignored the whispering around her. Let them all think that the Gryffindor Brain had finally cracked up under the pressure of schoolwork. At this point, having a good wallow in her failure, she didn't care, and it was rather peaceful here under the cloud of her hair. Eventually, when she didn't move or do anything else gossip-worthy, the murmuring ceased. Still she didn't move, but stayed, head bent to the desk.

It took a while to penetrate through the whirl of thoughts that were plaguing her. She had no idea how long she'd been listening before she finally _heard_ the sound. It was low and pleasing. Glancing up she looked around and then realized that the third year Hufflepuff girl at the next table was humming softly to herself as she worked over a scroll.

The tune was soothing and vaguely familiar. A moment later Hermione identified it as an old lullaby. Curiosity satisfied, she closed her eyes and put her head back on the desk.

Two seconds later they snapped back open as she sat straight up in her chair. Lullabies. Babies. She'd been going about it wrong the entire time. Feeling fired up with renewed purpose and the thrill of the literary chase, Hermione stood abruptly, eager to start her search over again. Perhaps a little too quickly, as, without warning, the wooden chair she'd been sitting in fell over in a shockingly loud clatter in the quiet library, drawing turned heads and a pointed _Hisssss_ from Madam Pince. Blushing furiously, she righted her chair and escaped the curious and slightly accusing eyes of her schoolmates by darting into the first row of stacks.

The books she sought were in a short cul-de-sac row that was created in an oddly angled nook consisting of the back wall of the library and two heavy shelving units. It took her twenty minutes to find what she wanted since a support column partially hid the opening to the row. Dropping to the floor to better see the titles on the dusty bottom shelf, she felt a pang of concern when she noticed only four slim volumes. However, as she ran her fingertip across the smooth leather of the spines, she felt the unmistakable tingle of magic. There was power here -- old power that had nothing to do with the apparent age of the books. Yet for all the force of the power, it was warm and comforting, wrapping her in a magical acceptance that relaxed her all the way down to her toes and caused a happy smile to spread unbidden across her face.

Mother's magic. Old magic. A magic from before wands and formalized schools of magic. This was the magic that Harry's mother had gifted her son with; the magic that had repelled Voldemort's Killing Curse and saved Harry from Quirrell.

Yes, this was exactly what she was looking for.

Still grinning, she absently stroked the covers as she pulled each book from the shelf. The first was _What to Expect Magically When You are Magically Expecting_. While it might be an interesting read, it wasn't exactly what she was looking for. The second book, _Raising a Magical Child_, by Dr. Spook, looked more promising.

Deciding to just get comfortable where she was, she turned and settled her back against the solid frame of the bookcase, pulling her school robes around her. Opening the book, she breathed in the scent of talcum powder that emanated from the tome. Flipping over to the index, Hermione scanned down until she found a chapter entitled, 'Getting Your Child to Sleep.' Relaxing into the rhythm of reading, Hermione soon lost herself in the words.

* * *

Agony shooting up Severus' left leg halted his usual fluid stride, bringing him up short with a suppressed gasp. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he shot a quick glance around him to make sure that his momentary bout of weakness had not been witnessed. Seeing no one in his line of sight, he loosened a bit of his iron-willed control and tried to relax into the pain. Leaning into a bookcase for balance, he gave thanks that this part of the library was currently deserted of students. 

While the Dark Lord tended to favor the Cruciatus Curse, it was by no means the only method he used to punish disobedience or failure. Voldemort had not been pleased with his report the past evening, and he was paying for his lapse now with his Master's new fondness for the Dolor Torus hex. Like the Cruciatus, it targeted the muscles and nerves of the body, but could be localized and focused in one area, rather than the body as a whole. It also had the added benefits of lingering aftereffects and reoccurring pains that lasted for several days, rather than several hours, while not having the unpleasant side effect of driving the sufferer insane.

Making sure he made no noise, Severus limped down the short aisle, stopping as he came abreast of the stone column that blocked the view of the furthest reaches of the aisle. He was startled to see Hermione Granger seated on the floor, her feet tucked up under her school robes. Around her on the floor were several books while another rested in her lap. She was completely absorbed in the pages.

Checking his first impulse to send her on her way with a snide comment, he stayed in the shadow of the column simply watching the female member of the Golden Trio.

It was an endeavor he engaged in more often than the students knew. He'd often watched from secluded alcoves as the students interacted. The knowledge he gleaned had prevented countless pranks, fights and schemes of revenge. Severus knew that he was aware, before any of the other teachers with the possible exception of the headmaster, the mood and pulse of the student body.

Curious to see what enthralled the girl so, he tilted his head to get a better look at the titles of the books she'd pulled from the shelves. He felt mildly surprised as he read the title of the first book. By the time he'd gotten to _Gifting Your Child With A Magical Name They Can Grow Into_, mild surprise had grown into a hot anger mixed with acute disappointment.

Stupid, stupid girl! _Was this then the mystery of her changing behavior? Was this the passion that had pulled her attention from her schoolwork?_ He felt unaccountably betrayed. _How dare she?_

"Miss Granger!"

* * *

**End Chapter 10**

* * *

**Author's Note:** I know that I've disappointed most of you by not having Hermione run into Snape dressed as him. However, I hope you all understand the reasoning behind preventing that occurrence. At this point in the game, Snape would never had understood or believed her explanations. And it is a long way from the Room of Requirement down to the dungeons. She'd never have made it anyway without being spotted by someone. She could have scarred a poor Hufflepuff for life. 

**The Reviews:**

**Gulup** – I hope this chapter answered all your questions (believably) regarding the potions. Neville's Snape doll is still around and will be making another appearance.

**Bean **– Harry and Ron aren't out of the story. In fact, Ron will be making a major contribution. Harry is being an ass because he's felt very isolated and alone, as if the weight of the world was on him. He forgot that he has friends that are going to stand by him. You can see this same irrational anger and defensiveness in the last book. I've just continued that idea here and spun it out some to a possible conclusion. As for the Dark Arts – Harry believes that in order to defeat Voldemort he is going to have to cast an Avada Kedavra on him. He's trying to prepare himself for that.

**Saoirse** – I'm honored that you sat down and read my fic beginning to end. It's a great compliment that the story kept you hooked that long.

**MarbleGlove** – Excellent questions about what those lines of Vector's represent. Vector (and Albus) are asking the same kinds of questions and Albus is definitely worried. And the answer is . . . I can't tell you. You'll just have to wait. 

**Hunkamunka** – Love the name. I hope you passed those finals you should have been studying for while you were reading fic instead. Although, I'll take it as a compliment that you blew off good grades for my little tale.

**Marajadest **– You are safe. There will be no changing of my mind. This will be a Hermione/Severus romance. It will just take us a while to get there. I've always liked the scenic route.

**Arienna Jordan** – Thank you for the compliment. I work hard to try to keep Hermione and Severus true to their characters while still showing how the characters can grow and change. It is nice to know it is appreciated.

**Excessivelyperky** – I laughed when I read you review. I did base Vector's Arithmancy equations on the Foundation series. I can't believe you picked up on it. All hail, Asimov!

**Fleur-de-Lis **– I'm glad you like the Snape characterization. He's hard to write and keep canon. I do try.

**June W** – Vector is already a member of the Order. I based the Order on Underground/Resistance groups. In that type of organization, only one or two highly placed people know everyone involved. Everyone else only knows one or two other people in the organization and they are only given information they need to know. That way if a member is captured, they can only give away a few other people and limited knowledge. If see the Grimmauld crowd as the 'core' group with Albus as the person who knows everyone. I also dislike stories that have everyone knowing that Snape is a spy – it's unrealistic. The more people who know a secret, the less of a secret it becomes and Snape ends up a dead spy.

**SnapeSeraphin** – Glad you are liking Snape. The snark doesn't always come easy. There is a fine line between being sarcastic and blunt and being heavy-handed with the cruelty. I like to think that Snape has a little more subtlety.

**risi** – I think that Dumbledore will use whatever information gathering is available to him. Vector's models help him make his plans. And while Vector's lack of information is hindering her calculations right now, that is going to change. She's got a few more calculations to add.

**Everyone else** – Once again, thanks for your kind reviews and patience. I realize I'm getting a little slower with the updating, but in contrast the chapters are getting a tad bit longer. Personally, I like long chapters in fic. Also, a word about how I pick reviews to answer. It's all – mostly -- random. I try to answer reviews where people have left specific questions, made a telling point or just made me laugh. Also, if several people have made the same comment or asked the same question, I'll just answer one person rather than repeating the answer over and over.


	11. Ch 11 Realizations

**Authors Note**: I have been absolutely floored by everyone's kind remarks concerning this story. You guys are asking questions, speculating on where the story is going and giving me feedback that what I'm writing is keeping you entertained. I truly feel all warm and fuzzy. So, because of that, and as a reward, I've decided to post this chapter after only hearing back from one of my betas. Of course, that means you might have an extra error or two but hopefully you all can cope. Once I get the changes back from my second beta, I'll repost the chapter here so that any outstanding mistakes are fixed. For those reading at Ashwinder - the story will be waiting on the second beta before being posted. Enjoy. -C

* * *

**CHAPTER 11 - Realizations**

"Miss Granger!"

Six years of training had Hermione on her feet and standing in an approximation of military attention before she'd even fully processed the situation. She had no idea what had earned her the wrath of Professor Snape but there was no denying that the Potions master was livid. Black brows like thunderclouds were lowered over depthless eyes, while a snarl of rage curled his upper lip to show the tip of one sharp incisor.

Having been on the receiving end of a few of the professor's more spectacular tirades over the years, Hermione knew she was in serious trouble; a small part of her noted that she'd actually never seen Professor Snape this angry before except when dealing with Harry. Pulling the child-rearing book closer to her chest in a futile attempt at protection, she waited for the explosion she knew was coming.

"Foolish girl! Is this the reason then?" he hissed.

Hermione, still a bit shocked at his sudden appearance in this seldom used portion of the library, gave in to her confusion. "Sir?"

Snape continued, as if not hearing her. "Did you honestly believe that you wouldn't be discovered? That your _activities_ wouldn't bring consequences?"

Hermione froze at his words. _He knew. How had he found her out? Had Professor Vector said something? Had Rink let something slip?_

Icy tendrils of fear coiled in her stomach. "Please, Professor Snape," she pleaded, "I can explain. If you'll just let me --"

"You, Miss Granger, have done enough, I think. You will also tell me the name of your _partner_." The way he spat the word _partner_ made her fear for poor Rink. She had no doubt that Professor Snape was enraged enough to give Rink clothes. She couldn't let that happen. She _wouldn't_ let that happen.

Taking a deep breath, she met the angry stare of her professor. Her voice, though, gave away her panic, her words coming out choked and strangled. "I acted on my own, sir."

He let out a sharp, short bark of laughter. "Twenty points, Miss Granger, for blatantly lying to me. Do you know, that I thought Dumbledore wrong when he said a boy caught your attention? I thought you better than that. I thought you smarter than that."

Hermione frowned. Dumbledore was talking about her? And what did any of this have to do with a boy? "Sir, I don't –"

"I have not granted you permission to speak," he snapped, cutting her off before she got any further. "Professor McGonagall will be **most** disappointed in you, Miss Granger. To say nothing of your other teachers." He stopped then and drew a breath, his eyes hard and without mercy. "I gave you my time," he finally spat, face twisted in contempt. "I had begun to believe that maybe, _just maybe_, my initial assessment of you had been somewhat hasty on my part. And this . . . this is the path you take?" He jerkingly gestured to the books at her feet. "You have thrown aside potential for the transitory and lust-bound promises of foolish boys? I gifted you with reason of maturity for your behaviors of late. More the fool am I," he ground out. Then his voice turned mocking, "But then, what have you the need of studying when you destine yourself to marriage and mewling brats before you even live your life."

Marriage and brats? Suddenly she understood -- the books at her feet and the one clasped in her hand -- it made a horrible kind of sense. For one blinding moment, she felt supremely angry that he would think she was capable of endangering her future by getting pregnant while still in school. Relief quickly coursed through her upon realizing that he still didn't know about S.N.O.R.T. That relief, however, was almost immediately overwhelmed as the original anger came back full force. How dare he accuse her?  
Furious with him, Hermione stepped forward to meet her accuser right as he took a step past the stone column that partially blocked the entrance to this little alcove, his tall, looming presence making the small, enclosed space feel even smaller.  
The cycle of fear, anger, relief and anger swamped any good sense Hermione had left. "How dare you! How could you?" she cried. "You think that I am . . . that I would . . . pregnant? Me? What happened to thinking? Do you not practice what you preach? Or was Sirius right that night in the Shrieking Shack? Once again you put your mind to the task and come to the wrong conclusion?" 

The words were no sooner said than she clapped a hand over her mouth with a gasp, staring at her professor in horror. Professor Snape flushed a dull red and advanced on her. Then, to Hermione's eyes he seemed to lurch sideways, his face abruptly draining of color until his complexion was a chalky white. The lashes of his suddenly closed eyes looking like fresh bruises against his skin. She saw one black-clad arm reaching out to grab hold of the bookcase at his side while the other grasped at empty air.

In that split second, Hermione knew he was going to fall. Her anger forgotten, and without a second thought, she rushed forward, stepping into the reach of her professor's splayed hand. She staggered when that hand crushed her right shoulder, his greater weight and momentum causing her stumble before she found her balance. Dropping the book she carried, Hermione wrapped her arm around Professor Snape's waist, fighting against gravity to lever him back upright. Realization hit her hard. She wasn't going to be able to hold him.

Twisting her body, ignoring the pain where his strong fingers dug mercilessly into her collarbone, Hermione managed to get her wand out of her robe pocket. Focusing on the dropped book, a swish and two flicks later, the book was transfigured into a low, padded stool.

Dropping her wand, she reached to again wrap her arm around Professor Snape's waist. Leaning forward slightly, she carefully shifted her weight until he slid down to land heavily on the padded stool.

* * *

Forgetting in the heat of his anger the very reason he'd found her in the first place, Severus strode forward, intent on reaching the girl at the end of the short cul-de-sac row. Unfortunately, while his mind may have forgotten, his body had not. Two steps later, his left leg locked in a fierce spasm that stole his breath. Face contorted in agony as tortured nerve endings flared to searing life and muscles knotted and cramped, Severus blindly struck out with both hands in an attempt to keep from falling. His right hand found and gripped the solid oak shelving unit to his side. His left hand came down and clamped on something soft and yielding that gave and swayed slightly beneath his hand before steadying. 

Eyes squeezed tight and jaw locked against the pain, Severus neither knew nor cared what prop he'd found as he attempted to breath through the agony ripping through his body. And then he was falling -- a controlled slide that barely registered before his fall was abruptly halted when he came to rest on something soft and padded.

He could barely make out the voice of the Granger girl over the roaring in his ears. Iron will fought against his body's reactions until once again his mind ruled and he could force the pain down. As the roaring subsided, he could finally hear the girl's frantic entreaties.

"Professor Snape? Sir? Please open your eyes. Please be okay. I'm going to get Madam Pomfrey but I'm not leaving until you open your eyes."

Opening his eyes, he forced air passed clenched teeth. "No," he hissed.

The girl flinched at his harsh tone.

"Sir, you're hurt. Madam Pomfrey-"

"Can do nothing for me," he finished with gasp.

"But, sir . . . "

Severus had too many years of dealing with Minerva not to recognize the special brand of Gryffindor stubbornness on Miss Granger's face. Leaning back against the shelf, he stretched his leg out, wincing as the movement ignited the nerves once again. Thankfully, this time, the flare was tolerable.

His voice was rough and abrasive with the strain of his control. "Madam Pomfrey can do nothing," he repeated as calmly as he could manage. He stiffened slightly as another wave of agony swept up his leg, and he fought to not clench the muscles, knowing from previous experience that it would only serve to make the pain last longer. As the pain ebbed, he left out a soft breath. "This will pass, eventually. It must simply be endured."

Focusing on controlling the pain rather than the girl, Severus was surprised to see Granger set a silencing spell and a notice-me-not spell across the entryway to this hidden alcove. He rather expected her to run. If not to her little friends, then, at least to her Head of House. At his questioning look, she gave him one of those brave little smiles that Gryffindors were famed for. The one they usually gave, he'd noted over the years, just before they did something selflessly idiotic.

His supposition was proven correct when she returned to kneel beside his outstretched leg, her face earnest. "None of the other students should see you like this. And if you won't let me get Madam Pomfrey, I will stay to help you."

_He needed no help_. As he addressed her, he made sure that the full potency of venom laced his voice. "You may go, Miss Granger. I suggest you use this time to say your good-byes. Helping me will not get you out of being expelled."

The low stool on which he sat put him close to her. Sitting up on her knees, as she was, put them on an almost level height. There was no mistaking the mule-stubborn expression that flitted briefly across her face or the exasperated sigh she let out as she shook her head.

"I'm _not_ pregnant." The words came out baldy and without finesse. Hermione winced as the words hung in the air between them.

Dragging both hands up through her hair, she grasped at the roots and tugged slightly while letting out a soft, strangled noise of frustration. There was just something about Professor Snape that left her emotions in a tangled knot. He was the only person she knew who could simultaneously invoke anger, compassion, hurt, outrage, and protectiveness in her.

"I'm sorry, Professor, for what I said a minute ago. I was angry that you would think that I would . . . that I would allow myself to become pregnant. I take my studies very seriously." She leaned forward slightly, willing him to believe in her sincerity. "Because of that, I am very appreciative of what you have been doing for me. I have noticed that you have granted me both your time and attention. I would not do anything to jeopardize the faith in have shown in me."

Hermione sat back on her heels, noticing that the professor's color seemed to be coming back although the taut lines around his eyes and mouth showed that he was still in considerable pain. Beyond the pain, she could read nothing in his expression.

"Very well, Miss Granger," he finally said, his voice strained and lacking in the fluid quality she was used to hearing. "I will accept that I have come to the wrong conclusion. In this instance. You may leave now."

When he leaned his head back against a row of books and closed his eyes again, she knew she'd been dismissed. She reminded herself why she was doing this again. He deserved help. He deserved to have someone think of him first for a change . . . even if he was being a complete bastard.

"I won't leave you while you are injured, sir. You can take as many points as you like, but I won't go."

His eyelids raised just enough for him to glare at her though his lashes. "Bloody Gryffindors!" he growled.

Again, she gave him that little smile. "Yes, sir. I quite agree. There really nothing much you can do with them, except let them have their way."

He opened his mouth to blast her for her impertinence when he stopped, studying her instead. She had a bit of her school robe twisted between her fingers. Her eyes were sweeping over his outstretched leg in an assessing gaze that reminded him of Poppy during her more maternal Healer moments. It was, however, the girls' bottom lip that was being worried to the point of bleeding between sharp white teeth that really clued him in. The girl was worried for him -- truly, inexplicably, worried. It was such a novel idea that he wasn't quite sure how to handle it.

Then another spasm hit, and his attention was focused back on the pain rather than the girl. Leaning forward he dug his fingers into his thigh, kneading at the knots formed from the muscle cramps. He was startled when he felt a second set of hands begin kneading at his knotted calf muscles.

"Miss Granger!" he exclaimed, outraged that she felt she had the right to touch him.

She responded with a cheeky, "Gryffindor, sir." Although, he noticed that she at least had the grace to blush fiercely at her forward behavior.

_Gryffindor, indeed_. However, the feel of her strong fingers digging into the knots, relaxing the tension within his leg, stayed his usual response to verbally flay her for her presumption in touching him. They both worked in silence for a few minutes until he felt the clenched muscles relax. At the first sign of ease, he brushed her hands from his leg with an impatient flick of his fingers. Sitting up and leaning back against the bookcase once again, he found the girl staring at him, all big brown eyes and serious expression.

He'd displayed too much vulnerability in the last few minutes. It was time to reestablish himself. The now muted throb of pain through his body, made the task more difficult but not impossible. Gathering the somewhat tattered threads of his control, he wrapped himself in his chosen armor. When he was prepared, he struck. "Very well, Miss Granger, I have conceded that my supposition was incorrect. And as you have taken it upon yourself to inflict yourself upon my person, you will tell me the reason for reading those specific books." A flash of hurt across the girl's face rewarded his words.

"Now, Miss Granger," he snapped, his mood mollified somewhat by her sudden jump.

"They are part of some research I'm doing," she began. She reached over and picked up one of the books, stroking a finger gently along its spine. She spoke down, as if to the book, rather than up, to him, her words and manner thoughtful. "You've opened my eyes to questions I didn't even know I had." She looked up then, eyes bright. "Affinity, the _Vere Veneficus_ spell, and so many other things. I can easily learn the things that all the other witches and wizards learn from the time they are eleven and come to Hogwarts. What I don't know, however, is everything that happens during those first eleven years."

She shook her head then, once again biting at her lower lip. A sign he was now coming to understand meant she was thinking very hard about something and choosing her words with care. "Truthfully, sir, I came across these books while looking for a different sort of reference for another project I'm working on." Her eyes flickered up to his for a moment before darting away to settle once more on the book in her lap. "I believe though," she said, still choosing her words with great care, "that _some_ of the answers I seek about the wizarding world can be found within these pages."

She fell silent for a moment and then took a deep breath, her back straightening and her chin rising as she met his eyes once more.

Severus resisted the urge to snort in amusement. He knew that particular Gryffindor stance, as well. She was about to make some grand gesture.

She did not disappoint.

"I won't say anything," she made a vague motion to his still outstretched leg, "not even to Harry or Ron. I can only guess as to why you are in this pain, and it is no one's concern but yours and possibly the Headmaster's. I would . . ." she trailed off and then seemed to gather her courage again. "I would," she began again, "very much like to have your trust."

His response to that bit of maudlin drivel was automatic. "I do not make a habit, Miss Granger, of trusting children."

She gave him a small smile, seemingly unperturbed by his response. "I understand, sir," she agreed. "But I would very much like to earn yours anyway."

* * *

Severus Snape was not a man usually given to introspection, or to wallowing in what-ifs or might-have-beens. However, he had found over the years that walking the darkened corridors and passageways of Hogwarts put one in an introspective frame of mind whether or not the individual in question cared for introspection. The cool darkness swallowed the faint click of his boot heels and the soft swish of his robes until it was easy enough for even him, a man not given to flights of fancy, to imagine that he was the only person left in the castle. Or, the only person left until he discovered two hormone-controlled, fumbling seventh years making use of the alcove behind a statue of Boris the Boring.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't a night for surprises." He was gratified as two startled teenagers scrambled to their feet from the makeshift pallet on the alcove floor.

"Miss Pennistone," Severus snapped, "15 points from Hufflepuff. Get to your rooms." With a last longing glance at her erstwhile paramour that made the professor want to roll his eyes, Maureen Pennistone fled with gratifying haste.

"Mr. O'Brien."

"Yes, sir?"

Eyebrow on the rise, Severus asked, "Hufflepuff, Mr. O'Brien?"

Sean O'Brien straightened out his Slytherin tie and gave his glowering Head of House a deferential nod of his head before answering, though a slight smirk still graced his lips. "In the spirit of inter-house cooperation, sir." The smirk softened slightly into a small genuine smile as he added, "There is, also, a lot to be said for courting a future wife that exhibits the Hufflepuff traits of nurturing and loyalty."

Severus considered this for a moment. "Indeed," he agreed.

Mr. O'Brien, believing himself free, nodded again and started off down the corridor in the direction of the stairs that would ultimately take him back to the dungeons; Severus let him get halfway down the hall before calling out after his wayward pupil. "Five points from Slytherin, Mr. O'Brien. I would expect better from a seventh year than to get caught. And another five points for getting caught by me, forcing me to take to take points from my own house."

This time Mr. O'Brien had the good graces to look marginally ashamed. "Yes, sir. It won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't, Mr. O'Brien. Now get back to the common room before I'm forced to give one of my own detention."

Severus watched as his wayward student headed back to the dungeons. The O'Brien boy was smart. His ambitions lay in the direction of curse-breaking, a skill to which the boy was particularly well suited. The choice of Maureen Pennistone, however, was a bit unusual for a Slytherin. Granted, she was loyal and nurturing like all her house, but her family was not pureblood. Severus smiled then, not pureblood but also not completely English. Maureen Pennistone had family in the United States. He felt a surge of satisfaction at that realization. Once graduated, Mr. O'Brien and Miss Pennistone could be persuaded into taking a tour of the American wizarding community -- a tour that that would effectively put Mr. O'Brien out of the Dark Lord's reach. He would have to make a point of talking with Mr. O'Brien before graduation.

Filing that mental note, he continued his walk, sinking once again into the peaceful contemplation that Hogwarts inevitably brought forth in him. An hour or so later, he rounded the corner on the sixth floor landing. He paused to look over the grounds through the great round window there. It was a favorite spot of his. Leaning a shoulder against the stonework, he gazed out at the moon-silvered grounds. From this vantage point he could see Hagrid's small hut and the shadowed line of the Dark Forest beyond.

Gazing out into the dark, away from prying eyes, Severus allowed his mind to roam. As it was wont to do of late, he found himself pondering the question of Hermione Granger. He admitted that he had allowed his curiosity to lead him to interacting with Miss Granger in ways that he would not normally.

He enjoyed puzzles and exercises of the mind. The girl offered him a mental challenge outside his normal routine. She was neither the Dark Lord nor Albus. She demanded nothing from him, making no claims on his loyalty. She asked only that he teach her. The possibility was a refreshing change.

He leaned forward until his forehead rested against the cool glass of the window. The question became, he decided, who was the bigger fool – Miss Granger because she was willing to be guided by him or himself for wanting to do that guiding?

As a spy, it was his job to know both his allies' and his enemies' strengths and weaknesses and how best to exploit them. It also necessitated knowing and understanding his own strengths and weaknesses. His temper was a weakness. The afternoon's fiasco in the library with Miss Granger was proof of that. Though it galled him to admit it, his feelings had been hurt. The idea that the girl who'd occupied his thoughts of late -- who had been given his time, energy and attention -- had ultimately no more sense than her bubble-headed classmates had infuriated him.

He shifted his full weight onto his left leg, feeling the twinge of abused nerves and muscles but also a sense of satisfaction when his leg held. That had surprised him. After accusing her and threatening her with expulsion, she'd stayed to help him. She voluntarily touched him. She helped him. He remembered the look on her face and her hands twisting into her robe. She'd been worried about him.

Of course, Gryffindors were known to be overly sentimental. He owed her nothing. Yet, she had offered her silence and her trust. Not that he really believed that she could successfully keep either. Eventually Potter and Weasley would ferret out her secrets, and he had no use for her trust nor was he likely to give his own to a child.

He sighed then. _Lie to others, never lie to yourself_. She intrigued him still. He would willingly teach her.

Closing his eyes, he let his mind go blank. Maybe tonight he would turn in early, and eventually sleep.

* * *

While Professor Snape looked over the grounds and thought of Hermione, Hermione was busy thinking about Professor Snape. She desperately needed someone to talk to. When Rink made his now regular appearance in the curtain-shrouded privacy of her bed, Hermione practically pounced on him. 

The house-elf, long used to dealing with the volatile Potions master took one look at Hermione and promptly vanished. He reappeared moments later with a tea tray. "Rink is thinking that the Young Miss, and not Hermy, is troubled. Young Miss will drink and talk and Rink will listen."

Moments later, knees pulled up to her chest and teacup grasped firmly in hand, Hermione let everything out. "Oh, Rink, what am I going to do? He was a project, Rink. It was something that needed doing so I decided to do it myself. I mean, okay, there was an element of pity involved. He . . . it was just . . . no one else seemed to care about him."

Rink nodded solemnly while pushing a small tea sandwich up under Hermione's hand. He had noticed that the Young Miss sometimes forgot to eat. Rink had, therefore, decided he would serve both the Master of Potions and the Young Miss. "Young Miss cares. Hermy serves the Master of Potions."

"But Rink, don't you see, it was an abstract sort of caring." She finished off the sandwich and absently reached for another one. "It's not abstract anymore. Someone hurt him, Rink. He was in such _pain_ this afternoon." Mindfully, even now, of the trust she was attempting to earn and the secrets that she carried, she refrained from saying the name out loud. "I know who and I know why, but it makes me so angry that no one helps him!"

"Hermy will serve. Hermy will help."

Gaze fixed on her comforter, Hermione replied softly, "I just don't know if it will be enough."

Rink's ears twitched and sly grin spread across his face. "Hermy likes the Master."

Hermione snorted softly. "Yeah, I like him." She gave a brief shake of her head. "You know, I never understood how Professor Dumbledore could seem to _like_ Professor Snape. Sure, Professor Snape treats the Headmaster with more respect than he does us, but just barely. Yet, even when Professor Snape is all snarls and growls and wicked temper, the Headmaster just smiles at him." She trailed off and began to pick absently at a loose thread in her comforter.

Rink waited with the patience of his kind for her to speak again, subtly refilling her cup with more tea while her attention was diverted.

"I like him, Rink," she finally said, "in the same way I like Neville and Colin. Even when I was furious with him for thinking I was pregnant, I still wanted to just smile at him, to let him know that I care about what happens to him." Focusing back on the elf, she tilted her head to one side, her words coming slowly as she tested them out loud against the thoughts in her head. "He was angry at me because he thought I had squandered his teaching. He was angry because he felt let down." She paused a moment, then continued, her expression thoughtful. "He was feeling betrayed. But he wouldn't have felt betrayed unless he considered me worthy. No, not worthy," she corrected herself, "but having the potential to be worthy; having the potential to be trusted."

Hermione felt a smile start to creep across her face. "He doesn't hate me, Rink." Then added, "Granted, I don't think he really likes me either. But not hating me is quite an accomplishment, I think." Beaming at Rink, she grabbed up both his hands in hers. "Do you know what this means?" she asked, before answering her own question in a rush. "It means that it's working. S.N.O.R.T. is working."

At Rink's confused look, Hermione explained, with a small blush of self-consciousness. "S.N.O.R.T. is just what I call the plan to help Professor Snape."

"Hermy has a plan? Hermy knows what must be done?"

Hermione patted the elf comfortingly on his shoulder. One would have to be completely deaf to not hear the genuine worry and concern in Rink's voice. He took his responsibility of caring for Professor Snape very seriously.

"I still don't know how to fix his eating problem," she said. "The list of what he is eating has been very useful. He is avoiding anything spicy, as well as the greasier foods, which suggests that his problem is, at least in part, medical rather than stress-related. Although if it were completely medical you would think he'd go to Madam Pomfrey or just brew up something himself."

As Rink's shoulders drooped, she tried to inject some hope in her voice. "Hey, don't lose faith just yet. I have worked up a list of those foods he does seem to eat based on the information you gave me. I've also added a few additional foods that I thought the kitchens could possibly prepare for him. With more options, we might be able to tempt him into eating a bit more than he currently does. And," she added dramatically, "I have this." In her hands, Hermione held one of her new baby books.

Rink looked skeptical. "How will a book serve the Master of Potions?"

"Not the book, but what is in the book." Hermione patted the bed next to her. "Come over here and I'll show you. I think this will be the very thing we, and Professor Snape, need."

* * *

End Chapter 11

* * *

**The Reviews:**

**Kethryn** – Yes, I've read the Foundation series. Vector and her Arthimancy are based on that.

**Mrs. Harry Potter12** – Welcome to the story. It is always a delight to see new readers. I'd love to see what a good fanartist could do with some of my scenes in the story – maybe when the finished work goes up on my webpage.

**Bubble gum** – Thanks for the nice words. I too like a good plot in what I read. Plot is truly one of the first things that hook me about a story. No original fiction. I write fanfic as a hobby only. I was trying to update about every 2 weeks but I think I'm actually more like 3 or 4 now.

**Rhen** – All of your questions/speculations were great. We will see more of Vector's equations and Dumbledore's response to them as the story enters its middle phases. (For the curious, the story is split in my notes into three phases – Hermione's 6th year, Summer at Grimmauld, 7th year, graduation/final battle).

**MarbleGlove** – Another person with good questions and speculations. Unfortunately, I can't answer them without giving away the story.

**LivvSnape** – Vector and how her equations are changing should make an appearance in the next chapter. There are too many side threads going on in the story for me to include them in each chapter. Well, I suppose I could but each chapter would be 20 pages long and take twice as long to get out.

**Vodka-tears** – Have no fear, I will not being turning Snape fluffy. He may soften to Hermione a bit around the edges but the snark and snarl will remain.

**Fleur-del-Lis** – Don't worry. This story is plotted and outlined out until the very last chapter. I will be finishing it.

**Vanityfair** – The story started right after Christmas holidays during Hermione's sixth year. That is one of the reasons why the story is going so slowly. Snape would never view a sixth year student in any kind of romantic light. Right now, he automatically classifies any student as a nuisance. He's just (with this chapter) realized that he's seeing her as a person. But now that she is 'real' to him, we have the foundation to build fluffier feelings.

**Everyone else** – Just to repeat the author's note – you guys are amazing. The feedback on this story has been phenomenal. I am amazed that it has been so well received. I'd promise to get the next chapter to you quicker, but we all know it would be a lie. I hope you enjoyed this chapter.


	12. Ch 12: Sweet Dreams

**Author's Notes: **

1. The release of HBP has left many of us that lean towards the SS/HG ship feeling a little bereft. It seems that many authors have just thrown up their hands in defeat and abandoned their stories. I **DO NOT** plan on abandoning this story. I mean, really, the concept of SS/HG was already AU to begin with. I'm perfectly happy with ignoring everything that has happened in HBP in order to finish this story. Although, I will tell you that I already have the beginning of a new story in the planning stages that still puts SS and HG together and is HBP compliant. So there!

2. "Pet Project" has been illustrated! Yes, my little tale has inspired someone to do some fanart. I was absolutely floored (and pleased) that my words could do such a thing. I would like all of you to visit Yazzle's pics and view them for yourself. She's done a marvelous job. Leave her some feedback and let her know you enjoyed them too.

First steps – www . deviantart . com / view / 21084903 / (just remove the spaces) 

Profess Granger-Snape -www. deviantart . com / view / 21198982 / (just remove the spaces)

* * *

**Chapter 12 – Sweet Dreams**

Vector was troubled. Actually she was a little more than troubled; maybe somewhere between troubled and apprehensive. Then again, maybe she should just forget all the in-between stages and jump straight to worried. She stared up at her master equation from her spot on the floor. Worried was good. She could work with worried.

"Miranda? What are you doing sitting on the floor, child?"

Scrambling to her feet, Miranda attempted to brush the dirt and chalk dust from her robes as she turned to face the headmaster._Blast!_ She'd wanted to be somewhat presentable when the headmaster arrived. He had a knack of showing up when she was doing something to embarrass herself. Answering his question, she said, "Chairs clutter up the space. If I sit on the floor, I can see everything better."

Albus gave her an indulgent smile and an 'of course, my dear' before getting to the business at hand.

Miranda had noticed that he'd been doing more of that of late – the dotty old man persona was slipping more and more to be replaced with Albus Dumbledore, one of the most powerful wizards in modern times.

"You said you had news, Miranda." Albus eyed Vector with concern, his blue eyes serious. "I do not think you have called me to tell me good news. Tell me what troubles you."

"I added a new equation to the mix. It's taken a little while, but I've finally managed to stabilize it in relation to the overall equation matrix." Vector pointed over to where a wooden framed blackboard stood with several others. "I'd originally had her only as a part of one of the group equations. Then after . . . well, let's just say I saw her in a new light one evening and decided that she might merit a separate equation. I was right."

Albus clucked his tongue. "You're skipping ahead to the end again, Miranda. Who have you added?"

She wrinkled her nose at him. She always had preferred beginning at the end and working backwards, rather than start at the beginning and work forwards. "Sorry, Albus. I added Hermione Granger."

At the headmaster's raised brow, she made a vague 'what-could-I-do' sort of gesture with her hand. "I know, I know. It surprised me too. Mr. Potter has his own equation. I agreed with you on that point, as well as having a group equation that incorporated Potter's friends with him. Now, I've split out Miss Granger to have her own equation and I'm beginning to think that Mr. Weasley might need his own as well."

Albus looked skeptical. "Miss Granger's inclusion has altered the master equation that much?"

Vector waved to her multi-colored line chart spinning lazily in the air. "Look for yourself."

Studying the lines of force and possibility, Albus asked, "Miss Granger is the purple line?"

Nodding her head, Vector made a noise of assent.

After studying the diagram for a few moments, Albus turned to Vector, deep frown lines marring his usually serene expression. "You've rechecked your equations? Are you sure of these results?"

Vector felt her worry shift into the first beginnings of fear. Albus was worried. If Albus was worried, then the rest of them were in deep trouble. "I've checked and double-checked," she finally said.

"Miranda, this addition has shifted the whole balance. The timeline for the confrontation with Tom has—"

"Been moved up by months," Vector finished for him. "I know. What I don't know is how or why. That one person could so significantly affect the dates . . . " She shrugged her shoulders slightly. "It seems rather impossible, but my equations don't lie."

Both fell silent for a moment, before Vector raised her wand to the glowing line chart. "Whatever she does, it happens here." Vector pointed to where purple crossed grey. "She has some kind of interaction with your spy at this point, along with two or possibly three Order members here" -- Vector tapped several points of intersecting lines – "here, and here. Then, at this point, everything starts accelerating rapidly; compressing the time line from what used to be possibly years into what may be a year or year and a half at most."

"Harry is not yet ready for the confrontation."

Vector fiddled with a piece of chalk in her pocket. She really hated these conversations with Albus. "Then I suggest you get him ready. It's coming, Albus, and it's coming soon. Not to mention, that whatever it is that Hermione Granger does, it significantly decreases the projected casualties on our side. We dare not waste that gift."

Albus followed the grey line that represented his spy. Like before, it continued to wink in and out of existence. His gaze was drawn to the silver line that Vector had pointed out last time. "The rogue line remains."

"Yes. I had thought there was a possibility it was Miss Granger, but, if that was the case, when I added her equation, it should have vanished. I still can't find a reason for its existence within my numbers, but something within the equations is generating it."

"It is still headed for my spy?"

"Yes, and oddly enough, its course was the one thing that was not accelerated by the inclusion of Miss Granger. Its pace is erratic though. It jumps forward and then stops for periods of time, only to go forward again. There was steady movement a couple of days ago, but it's since gone completely still. But even with its starts and stops, it is still on its course."

Albus fell silent, staring at the spinning lines. Working his fingers through the tangles in his beard, he stroked the long hair, thinking and considering, weighing his options and the importance of all the pieces in play. Then he stopped to remember that these lines represented people who were more than mere pawns on the chessboard between Tom and himself. Harry would have to be ready.

"Not a word to anyone, Miranda," he finally said, weariness heavy in his voice.

"Of course not, Albus."

Drawing himself up, Albus summoned a smile for the younger witch and headed for the doorway. Just as he was about to cross over, he turned back. "Write up a separate equation for Ronald Weasley as well, Miranda. Keep the one you have of the three of them together, but split them all out as well."

* * *

Hermione slid her hands along the bolts of fabric, feeling the rasp of cloth beneath the sensitive pads of her fingers. She had an idea of what she wanted, yet none of the smooth, heavyweight cottons seemed right to her. Every fabric so far had seemed wrong in some subtle way: too thin, too thick, or too stiff. The list of wrongness keeping getting longer until, with a small noise of disgust, she decided to simply give up for the time being. Maybe she could find something of Muggle make that would work. Not to mention, Ron and Harry would be expecting her at the Three Broomsticks soon. She would rather not have to explain what she was doing in a fabric store rather than the bookstore.

The old witch behind the counter smiled at Hermione as she made her way back up to the front of the little store. "Find what you were looking for, dear?"

Hermione's face reflected her disappointment. "Unfortunately, no. I couldn't seem to find the correct fabric for what I need."

The witch gave her another friendly smile, eyes crinkling at the corners into deep wrinkles. "Let me guess," she said. "You're looking for fabric to make new dress robes to catch the attention of the young wizard in your life?"

Hermione felt the blush creep across her cheeks. "Oh no," she corrected hastily, "I want to make some sheets." At the other woman's confused look, Hermione added, "In the old way."

The moment of confusion gave way as the woman's eyes lit up with delight. "Oh, sheets!" she exclaimed, stepping forward to pat Hermione's stomach with a wrinkled hand. "Congratulations, dear. You must have just found out."

She was so flabbergasted at the witch's actions that for a moment Hermione froze. _Why is everyone so determined to make me pregnant?_ Gathering her scattered wits, Hermione tried to backtrack. "No, Madam, you--" Hermione never got to finish her sentence though as the old witch rattled on, oblivious to the fact that Hermione was staring at her in shock.

Hermione tuned back into the conversation in time to hear, "Bless you for thinking of the old ways. I must say, not many of the modern young witches today care enough to put forth the effort anymore. It's a shame really. I made the sheets for my own children when they were young. I'm of the firm belief that it makes them grow up to be healthier, more well-adjusted children. Everything nowadays has to be fast. Transfigure this, transfigure that. Magic isn't just about a lot of foolish wand-waving, you know."

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek to contain her laughter at that pronouncement. "Yes, Madam. I completely agree," she finally managed with what she hoped was a straight face. "In fact, I know someone who would very much agree with you."

The witch patted at Hermione again, her wrinkled hand feeling soft and papery against Hermione's arm. "Come with me, dear." She leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially, "I keep the good stuff in the back room."

Hermione followed along behind the woman who introduced herself as Agatha. Agatha led her into what at first looked like a tiny storeroom, but within moments was revealed as a magical construct, as it was much bigger on the inside than first appearances led one to believe. They walked past what seemed to be hundreds of bolts of fabric in every color and pattern imaginable. Twisting her way between the bolts, Agatha led her deeper into the maze of merchandise -- past jars of knitting needles, containers piled high with colored thread, past boxes of fabric scraps and towers of leaning fabric bolts. Hermione was positive that the mountains of materials were only kept from tumbling down by some kind of stasis spell. She was so busy taking it all in that she was surprised when Agatha announced, "Here we are."

Set on a low wooden shelf before them lay eight bolts of cloth. Even through the slight layer of dust, Hermione could see a subtle sheen on the cloth from the flickering candlelight. Reaching out, she ran a hand down one edge of the fabric, letting out a pleased hum when her fingers slid against silky softness. "Agatha, this is perfect!"

The storekeeper preened a bit at Hermione's obvious approval. "Nepalese spider silk magically woven into the base cotton," the old witch offered. "Obviously more expensive, but it's strong, durable, and its level of softness and comfort can't be matched."

Hermione ran her hand over the cloth once again. "I'll take it."

* * *

Hermione, ensconced in her favorite squashy chair in the Gryffindor common room, glanced once more at her Ancient Runes text, identified the section on Viking Runes, and then focused her attention back on the pillowcase in her lap. As she placed each stitch, she recited the meanings and inverted meanings of each of the Viking runes in her head, looking up occasionally to check her definitions against the text.

With exams drawing near, she needed to study but she was determined to have Professor Snape sleeping like a proverbial baby before she left for summer holidays. That meant studying had to share time with S.N.O.R.T. activities. Not the most ideal situation, but she was determined. To that end, she'd begun practicing her needlework.

Agatha had stressed that Hermione would need to perform some fairly elaborate stitches for what she wanted and had suggested doing a few trial runs before attempting the real thing. As Agatha had made the magically imbued sheets for all five of her children, Hermione was more than willing to accept the elderly witch's advice.

That advice left her practicing stitches and attempting to study at the same time. Hermione, being Hermione though, had quickly grown bored with doing the same stitches over and over again. To keep herself from falling into the mindless monotony of repetition, she'd decided to make something useful. She just hoped that Rink didn't hyperventilate before she could convince him that she wasn't trying to give him clothes.

"Hermione, what are you doing?"

"Revising," came the somewhat distracted and muffled reply, although her manner left no doubt regarding her feelings about the obviousness of that question.

Raising her head, Hermione glanced pointedly at the chess game set up between Harry and Ron. "We only have seven weeks left until the end of term. Some of us do not wait until the last week before exams to cram an entire year's worth of information into our heads."

Ron scowled as Harry, and two of the pawns on the chessboard, snickered at the comment.

"Hermione, you've been revising since the first day of class, and I know what you look like when you are studying. What I meant was what are you doing with that?" he said, pointing to the bundle of white cloth bunched up in Hermione's lap. "I don't think I've ever seen you knit and study before." Ron's frown suddenly turned suspicious. "You're not reviving spew, are you? The house-elves finally like Gryffindor again. You and your bloody elf-hats are just going to screw it all up again."

Hermione huffed in annoyance. "First, Ronald, I am NOT knitting. I'm practicing embroidery stitches. Second, I have not revived S.P.E.W. Third, seven weeks is not a long time. In fact, it's an extremely short time, especially if you have a lot to do and study for."

Glancing at her watch, she started gathering up her supplies, stuffing cloth, needles, thread and books into her backpack. "I'll see you guys in a bit. I've got to meet my study group now. Then, when I get back, we are going to sit down and go over your revision plans for Transfiguration and Charms." She ignored the look of horror on Ron's face and the look of resignation on Harry's. Checking her watch once again, she said, "You've got an hour to come up with a plan on your own." With that, Hermione slung her backpack over one shoulder and left Gryffindor tower, heading towards the Room of Requirement.

As the portrait door swung shut, Harry tipped over his king on the board, signaling that he was resigning from the game. It wasn't a total loss, as he'd been losing anyway.

Ron, still grumbling, packed up the game. "You know, mate, every year I tell myself I'm not going to fall to her bossiness when it comes to studying. But every year, I somehow find myself with revision plans and color-coded timetables."

Harry chuckled. "Don't you want to pass Charms?"

Ron grimaced and then gave a small laugh. "Of course, I do. It's just that one year, I want to pass without having to break out the multi-colored ink."

Chessboard packed, Ron headed towards the boys' dormitory to get his books and some parchment. "You know, Harry, she never did say what she was embroidering or why."

* * *

The door to the Room of Requirement opened with a satisfyingly loud**_ crack_** of wood and iron against stone. Hermione couldn't help her brief grin as both Colin and Neville predictably jumped at the noise. It really was small, and petty, and yet there was something extremely gratifying in being able to throw open that door with a bang. She'd never realized how fun it could be until she'd done it a few times. It provided great stress relief.

"Profess—"

"Silence!" she thundered.

Both Colin and Neville snapped to attention, backs straight and eyes front and center. Neville, Hermione was proud to note, though sitting rigid on his stool, was not cringing. Stalking to the front of the room, she glared at her two 'students.' "Clear your desks except for a single roll of parchment, quill, and ink."

When Colin was a little slow, Hermione snapped, "Five points, Mr. Creevey for wasting my time. Clear your desk now!"

With gratifying speed, the desks were cleared and both students waited for her next words. Forcing a suitably Snape-like frown on her face, even though she really wanted to laugh at the seriousness of her friends' expressions, Hermione continued her glare until Colin was just starting to fidget. Dropping her voice down to a sibilant whisper that caused Neville and Colin to pay close attention, she began. "The time has come for your final exam."

"Final?" squeaked Colin.

"Final. Yes, that exam toward which you've worked all year long. The exam that proves you've actually learned something worthwhile in my class and have not wasted your time and, more importantly, mine. _That_ final," Hermione sneered, ignoring the soft snicker from Neville's direction. "This will, of course, be your written final. The practical will be conducted during our next class period."

Giving each a copy of the exam she'd created, Hermione retreated back to the replica of Professor Snape's desk. Opening up her Runes textbook again and getting out the pillowcase, she went back to her studying and sewing, glancing up from time to time to check on the progress of her pupils. She took a break halfway though the hour to stalk around the room and peer menacing over their shoulders to keep up the Snape intimidation factor.

It was during her second circuit around the room that she noticed the somewhat peculiar way Neville was sitting. He was writing with one hand, the other being buried under the folds of his student robe at his side. After a bit of scrutiny, Hermione decided that Neville was clutching something. And if the movement of his arm was any indication, he was clutching his mystery object fairly tightly. Come to think of it, she had seen Neville fussing earlier with his bookbag after she'd told them to clear off their desks.

Curious now, Hermione took a few steps back from Neville so that she was no longer intruding in his personal space. Then she went still, knowing that Neville in his concentration would forget about her presence. It was a favorite Snape tactic. Predictably, Neville relaxed a few minutes later, though his grip on the hidden object didn't waver.

That was the moment Hermione struck, clamping her own hand down onto Neville's wrist. Neville let out a squawk of surprise but didn't resist when she lifted his hand free of his robes. Neville was grasping a small, cloth-covered bundle; a familiar looking cloth-covered bundle.

Mindful of Colin sitting a few seats away on Neville's right, Hermione leaned down so she could whisper into Neville's ear. "Neville, is that the Snape doll?"

Neville, turning an interesting shade of red, shot a quick glance over at Colin before whispering back, "It's just Little Sev."

"Little --" Hermione made a strangled noise, unable to actually say the name. "Neville!"

Neville shrugged and re-hide Little Sev back under his robe edge. "I feel better when I have him close by. He helps me think."

"He helps you . . ." Hermione trailed off. She couldn't very well yell since she'd been the one to give Neville the Snape look-alike doll to begin with. Although truth to be told, she'd actually forgotten about it. She had no idea Neville was still using it for Snape therapy.

Rolling her eyes, she straightened back up and resettled her teaching robes around her. Colin, she noticed, was now staring at them curiously. "Back to work, Mr. Creevey," she snapped. When the other boy turned back to his papers, she leaned back down to Neville. "We are going to talk later, Neville."

Fingers massaging the bridge of her nose, Hermione headed back up to the front of the classroom._It's no wonder Snape hates us all. _

The hour finally finished, she gathered up the tests from two exhausted-looking boys.

"I think that might actually have been harder than Snape's – excuse me, Professor Snape's – real tests." Colin had points removed too many times for disrespect to ever forget the professor's title while in Hermione's presence.

Neville, slumped over in his seat with his head resting heavily on one upturned palm, agreed. "Six uses of moonstones in potions, Hermione? I don't think Professor Snape spent even five whole minutes covering moonstones in class."

Hermione laughed at the two young men. "Exactly," she said. "That's why it will probably be on the real exam. My guess is as an extra credit question."

"So, Professor Granger-Snape, since that was our written final, does this mean that class is over after we finish the practical?"

"That's correct," she answered. "You guys have done a great job and learned a lot in here. Neville, you are so much more confident in yourself and your abilities that I'm truly impressed. I always knew you could do it." She then leveled a hard stare at him. "But we are still going to talk." When Neville nodded his understanding, she turned to Colin.

"Colin, you've done remarkable work too, especially after Professor Snape did the _Vere Veneficus _spell." She grinned. "So, for outstanding work, even if you are Gryffindors, I award you each . . . five points." She had timed it perfectly. The paltry amount of reward points set both Neville and Colin off into snorting laughter. When the laughter died down, she continued. "There are only seven weeks left before end of term. I figure now would be a good time to stop our sessions so you can concentrate on using this time for other studies. I'll still be using this room at this time for studying, so you are welcome to come in and study as well. The common room gets a little distracting sometimes."

Hermione took out her wand and tapping her head, eyes and chest, reversing the Snape charm she had on herself. Holding out her arms, she faced the two boys. "No more Professor Granger-Snape. It's just plain old Hermione from now on."

Moments later, the three of them were heading for Gryffindor Tower. Just as the Room of Requirement's door faded from view behind them, Neville turned to Hermione. "So, what about next year, Professor?" he asked grinning.

* * *

A few nights later, Rink appeared with a _pop_ within Professor Snape's quarters. Depositing the coffee urn with its silver tray onto the side table, Rink bowed low and turned to leave. 

"Stop," Severus commanded, loud enough to be heard, but not forceful enough to alarm the elf.

Rink turned back and regarded the human he served. "Master is needing something else from Rink?"

Marking his place within the book he was reading with one long finger, Severus focused his full attention on Rink. Rink, as Severus had noted, was no longer wearing the ratty tea towel that had been his habitual garment of choice since he had begun his service. He was, instead, wearing a pristine white pillowcase, with holes cut appropriately places for the elf's head and skinny arms. Elves, in Severus' experience, rarely changed their attire. "I do not need anything else this evening. I simply wish to inquire what you are wearing."

Rink, glancing down at his new pillowcase, puffed out his chest with pride. "Hermy made special just for Rink." Seeing that his chosen human was curious, Rink crossed to where Snape sat and rose up on his toes so that the embroidered stitches were easier to see in the flickering firelight. Rink pointed proudly to the lines stitched over his left breast. "Hermy put Rink's name and Master of Potions' name so that all will know who Rink serves."

Severus, somewhat taken aback by the pride in Rink's attitude, reached up to run a calloused fingertip lightly across the slightly uneven stitches. On the top line, in Slytherin green was stitched RINK. Below it, smaller letters chased in silver, read SEVERUS SNAPE, MASTER OF POTIONS.

Rink grinned his pleasure. "Hermy said that because Master leads Slytherin, and Rink serves the Master, that Rink could wear Slytherin colors." Rink dropped back down to his bare feet, a small frown of worry crossing his face. "Rink can wear the Master's colors? If the Master does not approve, Rink will remove them immediately and punish himself most severely."

Severus was stunned. _The elf wanted to be associated with him? He wanted to wear Slytherin colors? No one who wasn't Slytherin themselves wanted to wear Slytherin colors_. His surprise lasted only a moment though as he considered his personal elf.

Rink was young by elf standards, and had been with Severus since he'd first joined the teaching staff. Privately, he'd always wondered if Rink had been assigned to him as punishment for some misdeed the elf had committed. He and the elf had long ago come to an agreement on what could and could not be touched within his quarters and workrooms. There had been initial dramatics over suitable elf punishments, as well as when punishments were necessary. In the end, his stubborn nature had won out over ingrained elfish tendencies. Rink did not hurt himself and Severus gave very few orders, his own situation with the Dark Lord providing him a natural abhorrence to accepting servitude from another being. Occasionally, though, reminders of the no punishment rule had to be given.

Leaning forward in his chair so that he was closer to Rink's height, Severus reminded the elf of their previous chats. "You are not to punish yourself. We have had this discussion before. If punishment is to be meted out, then I will be the one to demand it. Have I demanded your punishment?"

Rink shook his head. "No."

"Then there will be no more talk of punishment." Then, feeling a bit foolish, he added, "You look very nice in your new attire, Rink. You are welcome to wear both my name and house colors, if that is what you desire." Severus was rewarded by a smile that stretched from one of Rink's bat-like ears to the other. _Egads, I'm going soft. Or possibly just touched in the head. Thank Merlin the house-elves only talk with other elves and no one ever pay them any mind_.

But there had been something in what the elf had said. "Who is this Hermy?" he asked as the name came back to him.

"Hermy is new to the elves of Hogwarts. Hermy has asked to serve the Master of Potions with Rink."

Severus considered the stitch work, and Rink's delight for the new elf, and hazarded a guess. "Hermy is . . . female?" At Rink's nod, Severus continued, "This Hermy wishes to help you in serving me?"

Rink nodded again. "Hermy came to Lonny to ask to speak to Rink, to ask Rink and Lonny if Hermy could serve the Master of Potions. Lonny has allowed this. Rink is most happy. Hermy is smart and will help take very good care of the Master."

Severus suppressed a groan. Considering Rink's enthusiasm for this Hermy, he suspected that he'd be hearing the pitter-patter of little elf feet soon. Putting on his most stern expression, or at least stern when it came to dealing with house-elves, he glared down at Rink. "You will train Hermy as you have been taught. I will not tolerate elf-induced punishments, nor will she move or change or clean anything that is out-of-bounds within the class, my rooms or the workrooms. I will hold you responsible for her training. Is that understood?"

Rink bobbed his understanding. "Rink understands. Rink will make sure that Hermy is a good elf for the Master."

Softening his glare, he gave the elf a faint smile. "Good. You may retire. I won't need your services again this evening."

Rink bowed and disappeared.

* * *

Feeling herself ready after practicing her stitches on Rink's new pillowcase wardrobe, Hermione pulled the curtains closed around her bed, set a Silencing spell and wards, pulled out her baby book with the sleeping charms, and got to work.

Two hours later, her first night of attempting the spell with the fine, white, silk thread and silver needle, which she'd bought from Agatha, was a complete failure.

Feeling herself better prepared the next night after her dismal first failure, Hermione once again pulled the curtains closed around her bed, set the Silencing spell and wards, pulled out her baby book with the sleeping charms, and got to work, only to discover that she couldn't get her magic to flow into the delicate needle. Her second effort resulted in a snarl of thread that required a sharp pair of scissors to undo and a massive magical backlash headache that required a trip to Madam Pomfrey.

After her second grievous failure, Hermione ended up waiting an extra day before attempting the charmed needlework a third time. She made it halfway through the sewing of the magical sigil before the magic failed when her concentration broke during the stitch-weaving of the spell. That failure left her so drained of magic that she was almost completely useless in Professor Flitwick's charms class the next day.

Tonight was to be her fourth try, and she was beginning to think that maybe it wasn't worth it. Her fingers were cramped from holding the silver needle, her lower back ached from being curled over the fabric, and her eyes stung from trying to see the tiny stitches in the flickering light of wand and candle.

This was harder than she'd originally imagined it would be. Hermione had never realized just how much channeling her magic through her wand enhanced and boosted her power. She had a new appreciation for the effort it took to perform the seemingly simple feats of wandless magic that Professor Dumbledore performed so effortlessly. She was slightly awed at the realization of the depth of his power. Power he hid under a doddering old man routine. Power, it seemed, that she didn't have. Dropping the silky fabric, Hermione let herself fall back against the bed pillows with a growl of frustration.

Crookshanks, in the manner of all wise half-Kneazles, decided that was his cue for a much-needed distraction. Two head butts later, Hermione surrendered to the unrelenting lure of the cat.

Reaching out, she began scratching behind one ginger tufted ear. "Fine, Crooks, you win."

Seeing as how she had a willing and currently captive audience, Hermione poured forth her frustration, safe in the knowledge of her Silencing charm on the drawn bed curtains. "This shouldn't be so hard, Crooks. I've read the books. The spells are simple enough. I'm not even completely tone deaf, so the singing part of the spell should be okay. It can't be because I don't have enough power. Ordinary, everyday witches created these spells to comfort and protect their families; they weren't just used by super powerful uber-witches. Why can't I get it to work?"

Crookshanks, however, wasn't offering up any sage advice.

Heaving an exaggerated sigh, she decided to give it one more shot before turning in for the evening. Pushing a protesting Crookshanks off her chest, she sat up and once again gathered together her fabric, threads and needle.

Gently carding her fingers through the multi-colored strands of thread, she tried to figure out what she was doing wrong. She knew the song spell; she'd practiced the stitches and knew the sigil she'd designed was a good one. She'd chosen both her thread colors and her symbology very carefully when she'd created the magical sign she wanted to embroider. She'd even avoided the more obvious parallels of snake symbols, even though, as a sign of both knowledge and rebirth, they were apt for what she wanted to do.

Instead, she'd chosen an oak leaf for strength and endurance stitched in deepest black, the color of protection. Circling the leaf was a ring of blue stars. The color blue gave protection, peace, and calmness while the star pattern re-emphasized the protection aspect while lending hope and harmony.

It should work.

Pulling _Raising a Magical Child_closer, Hermione read back over the section pertaining to sleeping charms, hoping she'd spot what she was doing wrong.

_Care must be taken when attempting any type of sleeping charm. The potential for misuse and harm cannot be exaggerated. The spellcaster attempting to make sleeping sheets must remember that they are gifting the recipient with their magic. As the caster creates the magical sigil, they are embodying the symbol with both personal feelings and their own magic. There is no wand acting as an intermediary. This is raw magic and should be treated with the respect it deserves. The caster does not control nor force the use the magic, but instead becomes the living agent of the magic._

_Choose your sigil and colors carefully; think about the child in question and all your hopes and dreams that you wish for that child. Absolute belief must be present. Pure intent must be present. It is never enough to simply sing the spell and work the stitches. The spell caster must invest themselves within the spell. _

Hermione smoothed the fabric laid across her lap. Belief, intent and giving of herself, she could do that. Taking several deep breaths, she calmed herself, and then reached for the magic within herself, picturing the glowing chakra points and how her magic flowed from them. Picking up the silver needle, she made sure that her threads were smooth and then began to softly sing.

_Sleep my child and peace attend thee, All through the night_

Hermione felt the magic ripple and surge within her as she fixed the image of Professor Snape firmly in her mind. Taking care not to force the power, she sent a tendril of magic down through her fingers and into the silver needle.

_Guardian Angels God will send thee, All through the night_

She thought about the professor's restlessness and the times she's watched him through the Marauder's map make endless rounds through the castle. Hermione's vision became lost in a white hazy, but she was held safe and secure in the magic and did not worry. Still she sang.

_Soft the drowsy hours are creeping_

She thought about the weary slump of the professor's shoulders that only appeared when he thought no one would notice. Lost now in the magic, Hermione never realized when she relinquished control to the thrum of power that swirled both within her and around her.

_Hill and dale in slumber sleeping_

She thought of how she wanted him to rest quietly.

_I my loved one's watch am keeping, All through the night_

Peaceful and soothing.

_Angels watching, e'er around thee, All through the night_

Protected and guarded. Safe from those who would cause him harm.

_Midnight slumber close surround thee, All through the night_

Good dreams.

_Soft the drowsy hours are creeping_

Nightmares banished beyond unbreakable wards

_Hill and dale in slumber sleeping_

_I my loved one's watch am keeping, _All through the night

Still she sang, verses repeating around and around as Hermione poured her trust, her worry for his safety, and her desire to help and protect into her words until with a faint _snap _the thread, the song and the magic stopped.

Eyes blinking in sudden confusion, Hermione swayed forward, only to catch herself with one hand. She felt as though she'd been run over by a lorry. She trembled with fatigue, while panting softly with the effort she'd been putting forth. Uncurling her fingers, she winced as cramped muscles stretched and tendons popped.

_Had it worked? _She scrubbed at eyes that felt dry and gritty. Fighting the urge to sleep, Hermione concentrated and managed to lift up the cloth to her bleary eyes, only to stare in surprise at what she'd created. This was the sigil she'd designed. The book had said that the magic could take control and force modifications, but this wasn't a modification. _This _was a completely new sigil.

Tracing a tremulous hand over the silk thread, she noted the tiny, tight stitches. It was beautiful and intricate, and nothing she should have been able to create.

In shimmering silk embroidery, a lioness crouched, paws outstretched before her. The lioness' coat shone brown and gold, colors representing friendship, strength and health. Her head and ears were up in wary vigilance. Smooth muscles bunched beneath her threaded coat. Between her splayed paws rested a snake done in black and midnight blue, its coiled body heavy and powerful looking.

The lioness guarded while the snake slept.

Not completely sure that she understood what had just happened, Hermione tried to focus. Unfortunately, neither her body nor mind was cooperating. Still sitting upright, her eyes closed. A moment later, she slumped forward, curling her body around the tangled sheet.

* * *

Sometime later, Rink appeared with a _pop_ on top of Hermione's bed, fully expecting to see his human helper bent over either a book or over the large cloth that she was working on. He was surprised to find Hermy completely dressed and sound asleep on top of the bedcovers.

"Hermy?" he called softly.

When she didn't answer, Rink banished the tray of sandwiches he carried and dropped to his knees beside the girl. He tapped lightly on her shoulder and was puzzled when she didn't awake. He nudged her again. When this elicited no movement, Rink sat back on his heels and pondered what to do.

He'd seen this type of comatose behavior on more than one occasion from Master Snape. It was usually caused from a severe depletion of magical energy. Rink knew that the Master made a potion once a month that severely drained his energy. Hermy had not told him that the magic she was working on could drain her this way. Humans. They were forever causing themselves undue harm. Rink was positive that without the house-elves, humans would be practically helpless. It was a good thing that Rink had taken on the duty of serving the Young Miss as well as the Master of Potions. She was his responsibility.

His duty clear, Rink did what he did for his other charge on occasions like these. Waving his hand, Rink magicked away Hermy's uniform, and clothed her in the nightdress that he knew she kept hidden beneath her pillow. While the transition was as smooth as Rink could make it, the fact that the girl still did not awake concerned him. The Master usually awoke at this point and fussed at him for being an interfering house-elf.

It wasn't until he straightened out her curled body that Rink found the finished sheet, the new sigil catching the light of the candles hovering over the bed. Rink's eyes light up with delight and he bounced slightly on the bed before he remembered to restrain himself.

"Hermy has mastered the magic," he said around a large grin. He understood now. That the girl was this drained spoke volumes of how much of herself she had invested in the invocation of the protective magic.

Humming to the unconscious girl, Rink got to work. A flick of his wrist nestled her beneath the covers. Another straightened out the books and papers that littered the top of her bed. Rink reverently folded the newly embroidered sheet by hand, before sliding it beneath Hermy's pillow.

Satisfied with his service, Rink released the Silencing spell and wards and blew out the candles. Patting at one of Hermy's exposed arms, he whispered, "Sleep now," and disappeared.

* * *

**End Chapter 12**

* * *

**More Notes:** US folklore says that Pennsylvania Dutch farmers put colorful symbols called "hex signs" on their barns to keep evil spirits away or to bring good luck. The symbols and color meanings that Hermione is using to create her sigil to sew into Snape's new sheets were taken from the Pennsylvania Dutch Hex signs that adorn many a barn in the Midwestern United States. Yes, I'm mixing folklore and magic from different systems into the HP world. What can I tell you, my parent's barn has a hex sign over the barn door. For the curious, you can see hex signs and various meanings here - http/ lullaby that Hermione is singing is called "All Through the Night." 

**The responses:**

**Vegiegurl** – There will be no sappy Snape. It will also be fairly long. As I mentioned, the story is divided into three parts. We are just coming to the end of the first part (Sixth Year). Then we have summer holidays and Seventh Year and then post Seventh year. I expect that it will be at least another 15 chapters to finish it.

**June W** – As you saw in this chapter, the sleeping issue is being tackled first. However, Hermione is going to put her summer holidays to good use. Snape's weight loss and eating habits will be her next priority.

**Goodmorningstarshine** – Yep, Hermione touched him and Severus was appropriately scandalized. It makes me laugh just thinking about it.

**GinnyW31** – As you can see from this chapter, Vector's equations just got a lot more complicated.

**Venomegqueen-83 **-- I'm glad to hear that you are enjoying all the side threads. Trust me, it gets a bit difficult trying to give everyone their own time in the spotlight without forgetting the main characters.

**MarbleGlove** – Very perceptive of you about the library confrontation. While Snape was sufficiently distracted at the time, what happened and what was said in the library will come back to him and eventually bite Hermione in the arse.

**CapnSilver** – You were correct. It had been awhile since we'd heard from Ron and Harry. They did make an appearance in this chapter but it was really only a cameo. Ron will actually be making himself more known in the upcoming chapters.

**Ariadmé** – Welcome to the new reader. You left a great review. Lots of suggestions and questions. I'll take a look at my use of the word 'ultimate.' I probably am overusing it. As for Harry and the use of the Avada Kedavra, what I told Bean was that Harry thinks that he needs to know the Killing Curse. You have to remember, that Harry is not always correct. And what he thinks he needs to do and what he really needs to do is not always the same thing. This will come up in the story in later chapters while our Trio are on summer holidays. So rest assured, it has been thought about and planned for. Lastly, I hope you did well on those exams you mentioned.

**Everyone else:** Once again, big thanks to everyone for there support through the reviews. They really do help keep me motivated.


	13. Ch 13 Go to Sleep You Little Babe

**Disclaimer: **Everything belongs to JK Rowling. I'm only playing in her world.

Thanks once again to Queenp and Keladry. Queenp graciously puts up with my pestering her while she is trying to beta. I have no patience and she indulges me and doesn't yell when I send her emails asking "Now? Is it ready now? Huh? Huh?" As for Keladry, she too puts up with my pestering and was most helpful during this chapter when the muse wouldn't shut up and kept insisting that certain scenes needed expanding. All hail the mighty betas!

I haven't heard back yet from one of my betas but I was getting impatient. So, everyone on FFN gets a treat and gets a sneak preview of this new chapter. Once I hear back from the beta I'll upload the newest version. For those who read on Ashwinder, that will have to wait until I hear back from my second beta. -C

* * *

**Chapter 13 - "Go to Sleep, You Little Babe"**

"Should we wake her up?"

Lavender peered at the _her_ in question and gave a half-hearted shrug. "I suppose we should. She'd freak if she missed classes."

That said, both girls continued to stare at Hermione, neither one making the move to wake up their sleeping roommate.

Hermione, oblivious to her watching roommates, never stirred. Neither the regular morning noises of the two girls getting ready, nor the bright sunlight streaming in through the cut glass windows, had stirred the young woman. She slept as if one of the dead. In fact, Lavender had been just the tiniest bit worried she was dead until she'd seen Hermione's even breathing disturbing the dark brown curls that half-obscured her face.

Finally, Pavrati nudged Lavender. "You do it."

"Me?" Lavender questioned, taking a small step backwards from the bed. "I'm the one who drew her curtains." Pointing a finger at Pavrati, she added, "I think you need to wake her up."

"What if she hexes me?" Pavrati whined.

Lavender pondered that one. It was a valid concern. Hermione had been rather wand-happy lately. Then another thought occurred to her. "What do you think will make her angrier, that we woke her up, or that we didn't wake her and she missed classes this close to exams?"

Pavrati's eyes went wide. "Good point." She was a Gryffindor after all; bravery was part of her nature. Taking a deep breath she prepared herself for possible battle -- adjusting her robes and smoothing down her hair until it lay in a shining black fall. Drawing her wand, she cast one last look at Lavender. "Cover me, Lav, I'm going in."

* * *

When Hermione, Lavender and Pavrati appeared at breakfast an hour later, Hermione caused quite a stir among the older Gryffindor boys, and no few of the Ravenclaws, as she passed down between the two long tables to her regular seat in the Great Hall.

It wasn't the fact that her eyes were barely open, or that she seemed to be having trouble walking in a straight line. In fact, no one commented on the fact that it was only Lavender and Pavrati, walking on either side of her that was keeping her upright and moving.

No, everyone was staring at Hermione for a completely different reason. Her normally neat enough uniform seemed to have changed a bit from yesterday. It no longer hid her form but was tailored and crisp, showing off the curve between her breasts and hips. Her hair, usually a bushy mass, had been tamed down into a sleek French braid that left escaped, curling tendrils of hair framing a remarkably delicate-featured face. The largest transformation, however, was Hermione's face. She was wearing make-up. Tasteful and natural looking, but definitely there -- from her soot-black lashes and tinted cheeks to the rosy stain upon her glossed lips.

Reaching the spot where Ron and Harry sat, Hermione slid into her seat, propelled by a gentle prod from Lavender. She quirked a bemused looking half-smile at both boys before her eyes slid halfway closed. She seemed to be dozing in her seat.

Ron turned a scowl on Dean, who was eyeing Hermione with a little more interest than Ron was comfortable with. Harry, however, was scowling at Pavrati and Lavender. "What did you two do to her?"

Lavender pursued her lips into a small pout. "Really, Harry Potter, what makes you think we've done anything to Hermione?"

Ron, who had turned in his seat to block Dean's view of Hermione, pointed an outraged finger at Hermione. "Look at her!" he demanded. "You two have drugged her or put her under Imperius or . . . or . . . something." Ron suddenly leaned forward, his eyes sweeping over Hermione. "Wait a minute, that's not even her shirt. It's yours, Lavender."

Lavender gave a sly grin and batted her lashes at Ron. "You notice what I wear, Ron? That's so sweet."

Ron recoiled backwards, his face flushed and eyes wide. He opened his mouth but no sound came out.

Harry, seeing that Ron had been completely derailed, came to his friend's rescue. "That's not the point, Lavender. The point is that Hermione doesn't dress that way. And she doesn't braid her hair and she doesn't wear make up!"

Ron having regained his senses, jumped back into the conversation. "And she certainly doesn't sit quietly while people sit around and talk about what she's wearing."

That comment brought everyone's attention back to Hermione, who was at the moment staring with glassy-eyed fascination into her bowl of oatmeal, completely oblivious to the people around her. She only looked up when Ginny, seated next to Ron said, "Oh for Merlin's sake, all of you shut up. Somebody get some tea into her; the stronger the better."

* * *

With breakfast eaten and two cups of strong black tea in her, Hermione was feeling a little more awake but could tell she wasn't in any shape to attend that Tuesday's Potions lesson. The fact that she had only vague and disjointed memories of Lavender and Pavrati getting her up, dressed, made-up, and down to breakfast was proof enough that she was in no shape to be playing with volatile ingredients. She'd also tried to perform to perform a simple "Wingardium" in the hallway and realized that her magic was almost non-existent. What little bit she could conjure up was sluggish, like thick molasses, rather than the quicksilver flash she was used to. She wasn't even sure she could create a potion.

In the state she was currently in, Hermione knew herself to be a danger to her fellow classmates. She would not have anyone's injury on her conscience. Not to mention the distraction she seemed to be causing. She had no idea that a few outward changes in her appearance would make people stare so. She felt decidedly uncomfortable and was looking forward to getting herself put to rights the first chance she got. Then she would be having a nice chat with her roommates about turning her into a life-sized dress-up doll.

Feeling that in her still somewhat woozy state that it would be best to talk to Professor Snape without the rest of the class around, she'd left the others at breakfast to head for the dungeons as soon as she'd seen Professor Snape leave.

Not that Harry and Ron had let her go without a fuss. She'd have to remember to apologize to Ron later. Exhaustion did not seem to sweeten her temper. This made her think that maybe Professor Snape had the same problem, as she was well aware that he never seemed to sleep.

"Just a few more steps," she murmured, uncaring if anyone overheard her talking to herself. At this point, she was just too tired to care. What wakefulness the tea had given her seemed to have evaporated somewhere between the Great Hall and the entryway to the dungeons. All Hermione wanted to do was stop and lean against a wall for a while. She was afraid though that if she stopped moving, she wouldn't start again. That would be all she needed -- to be found asleep, slumped against one of the dungeon walls.

"Finally," she said around a jaw-popping yawn, as the wooden doors that guarded the Potions classroom came into sight.

Too tired to knock, Hermione simply shouldered her way in.

Professor Snape looked up from where he was seated at his desk at her intrusion. Her appearance at his door must have truly startled him for her Professor stared at her for several long seconds before finally snapping, "What is the meaning of this, Miss Granger? Class does not begin for another thirty minutes."

Hermione blinked, wishing it wasn't so hard to think.

The timbre of his voice dropped from mildly annoyed down to decidedly annoyed. "Miss Granger, I asked you a question."

She really meant to tell him that she wouldn't be in his class that morning, she really did. What came out of her mouth, however, was something completely unexpected. "Lavender would kill to have your eyelashes."

Professor Snape's face flushed an angry red as he surged to his feet, his hands slamming down hard onto the desktop. "Ten points, Miss Granger," he snapped.

Feeling as if she was watching everything through a thick plate glass window, Hermione blinked a couple more times before nodding. "Okay." Ten points was more than fair; she would have taken twenty.

Eyes usually slitted in contempt or menace suddenly went wide. "Okay?" he repeated incredulously, as if he didn't quite believe that was her response. He was about to say something else when he stopped and stared at her assessingly. "Miss Granger, are you drunk?"

"No, sir, not drunk." Hermione plopped gracelessly down into a wooden chair at the back of the room and braced her chin on an upturned palm. "Just tired." Her words rose into a sing-song, "Very tired."

Professor Snape was still looking at her like she was insane. It was so hard to think and make the words come out, but she tried. "Too tired for class. Not much magic. Won't endanger . . . rather take the zero." She really wanted to sleep. Maybe sitting down hadn't been such a good idea. She wasn't sure when her eyes closed, but she startled awake when cool fingertips touched her cheek and chin. Hermione found herself staring into the dark eyes of her professor, words forming and spilling forth before her brain fully engaged. "You really do have pretty lashes."

Thin lips compressed into a hard line as her professor drew in a deep breath. "Miss Granger, you are clearly not in control of your faculties, so I will, for the moment, ignore your sudden fascination with my eyelashes. However, my patience extends only so far. It would behoove you to concentrate on answering my questions before Gryffindor manages to find itself in a point deficit. What did you do, Miss Granger, to bring yourself to this state? And do not lie to me. I know well the signs of magic depletion."

Under normal circumstances, Hermione might have panicked at this point, thinking that S.N.O.R.T. was about to be exposed. Complete and utter exhaustion -- physical, mental and magical -- came to her rescue. She was just entirely too tired to panic. So she told him the truth. "Was a Charm," she said, though the words were slurred with fatigue. She scowled, her lips momentarily moued up in displeasure. "T'was a very hard charm. Tried and tried and tried, but I couldn't get it work right." She stopped and took a deep breath before letting it out in a noisy exhale. "Then it worked," she said with a slow smile.

"Worked, indeed," Professor Snape replied with a glare. "I can see how well it worked. Imbecilic child. Your overzealousness in studying has hit new highs. I do hope that Professor Flitwick's final exam is worth the zero you will earn in my class today."

She almost corrected his assumption that the charm that had brought her to this state was for Charms class, before her sluggishly brain caught up with her mouth and silenced her. What came out instead was a very undignified huff of breath. She couldn't even work up the energy to get angry. Instead she just gave him a small nod before her eyes slid closed once again.

The light touch of his fingertips moved across her face and she felt him press two fingers lightly between her eyes. His fingers stayed there momentarily and she heard him murmur what sounded like a spell, although she missed the incantation he used.

"Even without Potter and Weasley you manage to get yourself in trouble, Miss Granger," his voice from somewhere above her said. "You and I will be having a most serious chat."

Hermione could hear him as his continued to mutter imprecations under his breath but the cool touch of his fingers felt good and she stayed where she was, to tired to protest. A moment later she felt the solid mass of his body move away. Two seconds after that, Hermione was slumped over the desk, her head pillowed on her folded arms. She was distantly aware of noise as Professor Snape moved around her but she was really to comfortable to care what he was doing and to tired to understand how strange the whole situation was.

"Sit up and open your eyes, Miss Granger."

When she didn't move fast enough for the voice above her, a firm hand caught her shoulder and raised her back up into a sitting position. Hermione fought against the lead weights that seemed to hold down her eyelids. Tired or not, she was too conditioned to ignore the command in his voice. He said to open her eyes, and she would do so, although it took her a few seconds to focus her gaze on the two vials, holding an electric green potion, that were being waved in front of her nose.

Once Professor Snape was certain he had her attention, he continued. "I have excused you from classes for the rest of the day, Miss Granger. You will receive a zero in my class as well as the others you will miss today. If nothing else, that should teach you the consequences of behaving in so foolish a manner in regards to your magic. You will return to your dorm where you will drink one vial. You will set your alarm for the noon meal. You will come down to the Great Hall and you will eat the entire meal that appears before you. You will then present yourself to the Head Table for an evaluation by Madam Pomfrey and me. Upon the conclusion of that evaluation, you will return to your dorm where you will drink the second vial. You will once again sleep until the evening meal, where you will again eat the entire meal presented to you and then present yourself for a second evaluation. After which, you will return to your dorm and sleep."

_Sleep? She couldn't sleep. She had studying to do._

Professor Snape seemed to read and recognize the dawning mutiny on her face for those cool fingertips returned to her chin, tipping it up so that her eyes were locked with his. "These are the consequences of your actions and you will live with them. The potion is an accelerant, but your body will require abundant rest and food in order to rebuild your magical reserves. You will not study. You will not read. You will not go to the library. You will not dally with your friends."

The same deranged part of her psyche that made the earlier comment on his eyelashes took that moment to speak again. "No passing Go an' no two hundred pounds."

"Excuse me?"

_Oops. _"Sorry, sir. Muggle thing."

He was staring at her like he suspected that she'd been mocking him. Hermione swallowed, hard. She was never, ever, doing this again. Finally, those eyes staring at her flicked away. "As you say, Miss Granger. You will follow my instructions to the letter. You will also report to me Thursday evening immediately after dinner for your detention."

"Detention?" Had she missed the part where he mentioned a detention? She remembered him taking points. When had detention appeared?

"Detention, Miss Granger, for the blatant disregard to your own well-being and magic, not to mention, for disturbing me with your idiocy." Professor Snape took a step back from her, giving her room to stand. "Now come."

Her mouth was still obviously disconnected from her brain, because once again words came forth that under other circumstances she never would have voiced. "Come where, sir?" she questioned.

Professor Snape had already moved and was standing by the door, waiting on her. Hermione noted that he was rubbing the bridge of his nose as if he was developing a headache. She was fairly sure she heard him growl 'patience' in an undertone that spoke little of the word he was invoking.

"We are going to your dormitory, Miss Granger. I am responsible for your safety, and as you are now, you are in no condition to wander the walls by yourself." He let out a controlled breath and then snapped, "Now get over here!"

Tired or not, Hermione was on her feet instantly and heading towards her darkly glowering professor before she even realized it. Once again her mouth engaged sans brain control. "That's just brilliant," she said, her words running together. Flashing him a wide grin, she giggled, "One day, I wanna be able to make people snap to with just my voice." She nodded sagely. "Would do wonders for Ron and 'arry."

Professor Snape ignored both her grin and her overly familiar tone; he could not ignore her mirth. "Stop that infernal giggling, Miss Granger. Punch-drunk or no, it does not become you."

A little further down the corridor, she was still trying to contain her giggles, going so far as to clamp one hand over her mouth. It did not completely muffle the sniggers that escaped. Worse yet, she couldn't seem to control them no matter how hard she tried, especially when they left the dungeons and entered the more populated hallways of the school. The looks on the faces of her fellow students, who parted to let a scowling Professor Snape pass by being trailed by a giggling and snorting Hermione, was just too much. She would contain the giggles only to lose her composure a few steps later.

Thankfully, by the time they reached Gryffindor Tower, most of the student body were headed towards their various classrooms. Professor Snape deposited her at the portrait of the Fat Lady, who i tsk /I ed disapprovingly at her, with one final shot. "You, Miss Granger, will be the worst kind of drunk."

Feeling that she ought to be offended, but really feeling too silly to care, Hermione arched an eyebrow and attempted to look down her nose at her professor. A task was made all the more difficult since he was taller than she was. "And what kind of drunk is that, sir?"

"A happy one," he shot back, before turning on his heel and disappearing down the hallway.

* * *

Hermione's first thought as she opened her eyes the next morning was that she'd had the strangest dream. Her second thought concerned the daring little spider that seemed to have taken up residence in the canopy of her bed, complete with intricately spun web. Her third thought of the morning had her sitting straight up in bed while her heart tried to escape her chest.

"Oh dear God, I told Professor Snape he had pretty eyelashes!"

Drawing her legs up beneath the comforter, Hermione buried her face in the fabric. As flashes of memory from yesterday overtook her, she groaned, covering her head with her arms. This was bad. Only the eventual need for air made her lift her head. It could not, however, make her leave the safety of her bed. Would it be possible to take her exams without ever leaving the safety of its four posters? How was she ever going to face her friends? More importantly, how was she going to face Professor Snape? Pretty eyelashes! What HAD she been thinking? There was no help for it, Gryffindor or not, she wasn't leaving the bed.

Ten minutes later, the call of nature won over Gryffindor pride. Feeling as if she was going to face a firing squad, Hermione rolled out of bed, only to be confronted with a half-dressed Pavrati on the other side of the curtains.

Both girls stared at each other, Hermione in embarrassment and Pavrati in curiosity. Hermione finally found her tongue. "I -," she stopped and cleared her throat before beginning again, "I want to thank you and Lavender for getting me up yesterday."

Perfect dimples framed Pavrati's answering smile. "You're welcome." She paused then and her smile turned into a sly grin. "You wouldn't be interested in letting Lav and me do you up again, would you?"

Hermione's eyes went wide and she took an involuntary step backwards until she bumped into her bed. "No thanks," she managed to get out as all the staring eyes from the day before flashed in her memory.

"Are you sure?" Pavrati continued. "You were gathering quite a bit of attention yesterday. I think Dean might have been drooling."

Hermione couldn't quite suppress her grimace of distaste. "No drooling, thanks."

Pavrati heaved a melodramatic sigh. "Oh well, I tried. Lavender will be so disappointed. We had dozens of ideas we wanted to try." Pavrati turned aside to finish dressing, then added, "But let us know if you ever change your mind."

On that note, Hermione beat a hasty retreat to the dormitory bathroom. She had a sinking feeling that today was going to be one long embarrassment after another.

When she left her room some forty-five minutes later, Hermione made sure she looked extra Hermione-like. She was wearing her loosest clothing, she'd done nothing to tame the wild curls spiraling out from her head, and she'd scrubbed at her face until the only sign of color was that of freshly cleaned skin. She hoped, but didn't quite believe, that her preparations would be enough to halt any rumors that were running rampant through the school.

Her suspicions of potential disaster were born out the minute she stepped into the common room. Every head turned in her direction and the normally boisterous room fell silent. Raising her chin slightly, Hermione walked across the room to where Ron, Ginny and Harry sat with as much dignity as she could muster. Every fear she had about the coming day was born out with Ginny's first words.

"Did you really giggle at Professor Snape?"

Hermione's fierce blush answered the question better than any words. Hermione was just thankful that there had been no one present for the eyelash comments. She would have never been able to live that down. Giggling, she was fairly certain, she could rise above.

At least, she thought that until they stepped out into the hallway and students from all the Houses, along with most of the pictures on the walls, stared at her. She was ever so grateful for the flanking protection of Ron and Harry on either side of her. With Ginny on point, they soon made their way to their regular seats in the Great Hall. With the teachers looking down on them from the High Table, few students took the risk of staring openly, though Hermione was aware of a several long, sideways glances sent in her direction.

Keeping her head down, Hermione began to fill her plate. She was famished, and suspected she would be for a few more days yet as her body tried to regenerate the stores of magic she'd used up.

"So, what really happened yesterday, Hermione?" Harry asked around a piece of bacon.

"I don't suppose you'd accept that nothing happened?" It was a long shot but she figured it wouldn't hurt to try to deny everything. From her perspective, denial was looking real good.

Ron shook his head. "Not a chance. You called me an 'interfering Molly-wannabe with delusions of ownership of your person.'"

Hermione flushed. Red, she decided, was going to be the color of the day for her. "I did?" she asked with a pained expression.

"You did," confirmed Ginny, as she leaned in closer. "Then you got up and stalked, well, more like staggered off in the direction of the dungeons."

Hermione sighed. "Sorry, Ron. I don't remember that. Actually, I really only remember bits and pieces. Everything is kind of hazy, like it was dream."

"But what did you do? You looked like hell when you came down for lunch and dinner and Madam Pomfrey hustled you off pretty quickly after making sure you ate. We weren't even allowed to talk to you while you were eating."

Figuring she'd have to tell her friends something of the truth, she settled on what she'd told Professor Snape. "I was working on a charm. It was sort of an advanced charm and I think that something might have gone wrong with it because it didn't work the way the book said it should. It almost completely drained me."

"So much for being brilliant," Ron interjected. "Don't you know how dangerous that is?"

Hermione shrugged. "Not that dangerous. It just drained me. After my day of rest, my magic is already coming back."

Ron remained agitated, his hands clenched in front of him. "Hermione it I was /I dangerous. There is a reason underage wizards are restricted from doing magic outside of Hogwarts."

Not seeing the connection, Hermione replied, "What does keeping wizarding children out of trouble have to do with anything?"

This time it was Ginny who chimed in. "Well, sure, part of it is to keep people like Fred and George under control, but Hermione, a growing witch's or wizard's magic is vulnerable while they are still developing. If a person's magic is stressed or drained completely before it has matured, you could lose the magic permanently. It's why we start with small spells and work our way to bigger, more powerfully magic spells as we age, rather than just jumping straight into the big stuff. That way you don't stress your power reserves and there are teachers around to monitor what you are doing."

"Everyone knows that," Ron added.

Hermione had gone white. "No, Ron, everyone doesn't know that," she said softly.

* * *

The day had proved itself to be the disaster she'd predicted. Rumors were running rife through the castle. Between Hermione's early morning appearance the day before decked out as the resident Barbie doll of Hogwarts and her subsequent appearance trailing behind an obviously annoyed Professor Snape while she laughed and giggled like a complete ninny, well, the rumors had a lot of fodder to feed themselves on.

Students, especially Gryffindor students, didn't follow along behind the castle's most feared professor and laugh. Sniffling, biting of nails and crying were all acceptable, and often-seen, occurrences. Giggling was not. Not even if you were a Slytherin.

The appearances she'd made during the meals the day before only cemented her new standing as the Hogwarts topic of most interest. Hermione didn't like being the topic of most interest, which is why she was currently hiding out in her bed behind drawn curtains. It wasn't a bad thing really; she, after all, had an entire days worth of schoolwork and studying to catch up on. It did not explain, though, why she currently wasn't doing her schoolwork or studying for end-of-term exams.

Hermione was staring sightlessly down at her Ancient Runes text while she puzzled over her latest run-in with Professor Snape. She'd truly had no idea the danger she'd put herself in. Even with that danger, she felt it had been worth it. Would she still have attempted the spell had she known? She was truthful enough with herself to answer that with a yes. Well, a qualified yes. She might not have put so much of herself into the spell. But the old magics had taken control of her and while it sounded silly to even think it, she suspected that those old magics would not have let her come to harm. Her intent had been good, and fear had no place in the spell she'd been weaving.

She slid a hand up under her pillow to finger the soft cloth of the sheet. No real harm had been done and it was over with. The only real thing left to do was get Rink to put the sheets on the Professor's bed.

This brought her circling mind back to the enigma that was her professor. Like many people, she'd made a profound revelation while she'd been as loopy as a sprite drunk on fermented honey. Unlike most people, she'd remembered that profound revelation when she'd regained her senses.

It was a very profound revelation indeed. Professor Severus Snape was not as mean as he pretended to be. Not that she thought for a single minute that he was all fluffy and warm beneath a crusty exterior. She wasn't that stupid. What she'd noticed yesterday though, was that while his words were every bit as sharp as a Norwegian Ridgeback's spines, his actions didn't fit with his words. In her own case, if she'd been in her right mind, she'd have been too busy being angry at the professor's deriding words to notice he'd quite possibly saved her magic. He'd taken care of her. He'd been surprisingly gentle with her. Of course, he'd also called her an imbecilic child, taken off points and given her a detention for tomorrow night.

Fingering the sheet folded beneath her pillow once again, she acknowledged a great truth of her world – she was never going to understand Severus Snape.

Giving up her musings as a futile exercise, Hermione turned back to Ancient Runes. She just had gotten to the meaning behind the Niding Pole when Rink appeared before her.

Without missing a beat, Rink launched himself at Hermione, wrapping skinny arms around her shoulders. "Rink is very happy that Hermy is well."

Hermione, finding herself with an armful of house-elf, was at a bit of a loss for what to do. "Thank you, Rink. I'm feeling much better now."

"Rink is very glad."

Hermione remembered one of the things that had puzzled her and pushed the elf gently away from her. "Rink, was it you who put me to bed and hid the sheet?"

Rink ducked his head, unsure if she was pleased with his help or not.

Hermione, having gotten better at reading the expressions and body language of her short companion, smiled gently at him. "You took very good care of me. Thank you. I appreciate it."

This was evidently the right thing to say because once again Rink flung his arms around her. The hug lasted only a second or two before Rink pulled back and sat back on his knobby knees. "Now is the time. Master is not here. Hermy must come."

"What?" she asked, having just a bit of a problem following the abrupt change of topic. "Come where?"

Rink reached around her to pull the folded sheets from beneath her pillow and then grabbed her hand. "Hermy must come to the Master."

Hermione had just enough time to note the thick calluses on the palm of Rink's hand before she disappeared.

* * *

She reappeared a split second later, no longer in her rooms. From the coolness of the air around her, she highly suspected that she wasn't in the sun-warmed Gryffindor Tower either. Turning in a tight circle where she stood, Hermione took a quick look at her surroundings. The impressions she got from her circuit was a room that was darkly masculine, classically elegant, but with a decadent edge that showed itself in rich textures, leather accents and deep jewel tone colors.

Looking down into the jubilant face of Rink, Hermione had a very great fear that she knew exactly where she was.

"Hermy is pleased?"

Trying very hard not to start hyperventilating, Hermione clamped down hard on her instincts. Now was not the time to panic. If she panicked she'd start yelling and yelling would make Rink think he'd done something wrong. And a house-elf who thought they'd done something wrong was a house-elf who thought they needed punishing. Right now, she really couldn't afford to have Rink start pounding his head again the nearest wall.

"R-Rink?" She was impressed, except for the slight stutter, she sounded almost calm.

Great blinking, lantern-like eyes met hers. "Yes, Hermy?"

"Rink, are we in Professor Snape's bedroom?" Hermione tried not to wince as her voice cracked on the word 'we.'

Rink nodded enthusiastically, his mouth stretching out into a wide grin. "Oh, yes. Hermy has a gift for the Master. Hermy must be leaving gift herself." Rink reached up and thrust the sheets in her arms. "The Master of Potions is away. Hermy must leave gift now."

Hermione had never been one to curse. She considered it an uncouth habit. But if ever there was a time and place and situation were strong language was called for, this was it. Unfortunately, the only thing that came to mind was "Bugger!" which she said. Then said it again just for good measure.

Forget expulsion; Professor Snape was going to kill her and no one was ever going to find her body. Ever. This went way beyond pretty eyelashes and giggling insanely.

On the heels of her overwhelming need to run as far and as fast as she could from this room, came the practical realization that if she was going to be killed she might as well accomplish her mission before Professor Snape put her out of . . . well, his misery, she supposed.

She was a Gryffindor after all. Time to gather her courage. Even making that resolution, it took every bit of courage Hermione possessed to take that first step towards the professor's bed. She kept expecting Professor Snape to throw open the door at any moment and find her. "Gryffindor, I'm a Gryffindor," she repeated to herself, although every so often what actually came out was "I'm a bloody stupid Gryffindor."

Stupid or not, though, she had a job to do. Setting down her precious bundle of sheets, Hermione set about carefully unfolding them. She'd created both a top and bottom sheet though only the bottom sheet carried the magic sigil she'd created. It would be on this sheet that her professor would sleep.

"Rink?" she called.

"Yes, Hermy?"

Rink, she noted, was almost quivering with excitement. She directed him to the other side of the massive black-framed bed. "Can you please remove the covers and sheets on the bed the way you normally do so I can get the new sheets in place?"

As Rink headed around to the far side of the bed, Hermione studied her surroundings a little more closely. This was an opportunity that she felt sure that few, if any, students had ever had. Professor Snape's bedroom was nothing like she'd ever have guessed of the man. Closer inspection proved that her initial impression of understated, but sumptuous elegance was correct. The room engaged all of her senses. The dark woods and deep colors pleased the eyes. The textured, nubby silk of the duvet tempted her fingers to indulge in a tactile feast. She inhaled deeply and caught the scent of beeswax and some kind of smoky spice that made her want to close her eyes and just breathe deeply. There were no sounds around her except the small noises of Rink as he stripped the bed, but she could easily imagine the soft sounds of some kind of classical music playing in the background.

This room was a sensualist's fantasy. It was also a complete contrast to the image she had of her Potions master, a man who gave the impression of being a cold, calculating and emotionless bastard. The dichotomy was unsettling and something she filed away in the back of her mind for later thought. This room was a valuable clue to what made Severus Snape tick and she needed to give it, and him, the time it deserved.

For now, she turned back to the task at hand and promptly giggled softly at the sight, or actually lack of sight, of Rink. The bed was so high that from his position on the far side, she could only see the tips of his pointy, bat-like ears over the top of the mattress. That bit of levity helped and got her moving again.

Flicking the sheet with the sigil out over the bed, she watched it settle gently across the bed. "Come here, Rink," she said. "Let me show you how to make the bed up in the future." Brushing the backs of her fingers across the small bit of embroidery, she said, "Professor Snape can't see this. So you have to remember to make the bed so that the sigil is up here by his head but you must tuck the corner under the mattress." Hermione demonstrated for her accomplice, making sure that the stitches were carefully hidden from view. "Can you do that?"

Rink gave her a small bow. "Rink will take very good care of the Master and of Hermy's gift."

Hermione smiled down at the elf and gave him a pat on one bony shoulder. "Great."

Leaving Rink to finish the bed, Hermione's eyes were drawn back to the room again, noting the books and tapestries that softened the edges of the stonework. Turning slightly, she caught sight of a leather bound book resting on a green-veined, marble-topped bedside table. She brushed a finger against the tip of the raven feather that was serving as a bookmark.

It was the old-fashioned pair of spectacles that were resting on top of the book that gave Hermione pause. There was something vulnerable, and somehow intimate, in seeing those glasses there that caused a heavy tightness in her chest and sent a shiver down her spine. _I don't belong here._

Feeling her panic from earlier beginning to creep back upon her, she called to Rink. "Rink, we need to go. Now."

"Rink is done." Taking hold of her hand, Rink whisked them away.

* * *

Severus dropped the wards that surrounded his rooms with a wave of his hand and a muttered password. Tonight's meeting with the Dark Lord had been exhausting in both body and soul. He didn't bother with re-raising the wards. He knew Albus would be along shortly. The castle would let him know the minute Severus was back on the grounds. Until the Headmaster made his way down to the dungeon level, Severus had a few minutes of peace and quiet.

Taking the shrunken Death Eater cloak and mask from a hidden pocket in his robe, Severus resized them. Then with deliberate movements he cleaned them both until the heavy black fabric of the cloak seemed to absorb the muted lights in the room and the silver of the mask gleamed with its own sinister glow.

With every brush of his fingers, every polish, every careful fold, Severus let a little of the anger that kept him alive during his meetings with his Master slip away.

When Severus had first begun attending the discussion groups led by the man calling himself Lord Voldemort, he'd been a young man filled with frustration, rage and hate. The discussions led by a then-handsome and charismatic Voldemort had filled a void within him. Voldemort had talked confidently about both the strengths and weaknesses inherent in the wizarding world. There had been frank and open discussions of the roles of Muggles and Muggle-borns. It was a heady time. For the first time in his life, Severus found himself in a circle of powerful individuals that listened to his words, argued his points, and let him argue theirs in turn.

It didn't matter that his family was poor, or that his social skills were somewhat less polished that his companions. Severus had hung on Voldemort's every word, had believed whole-heartedly in the message that was being preached. It mattered only that he believed, that he could see the glorious future that Lord Voldemort was leading them towards; a wizarding version of Camelot and Voldemort would be their Arthur. It was to that future filled with the promise of everything that Severus wanted – position, power, recognition and justice -- that Severus pledged his loyalty.

The night that Lucius Malfoy had personally introduced Severus to Lord Voldemort had been one of the happiest and most awe-inspiring nights of his young life.

Voldemort that night had seen something in him; had seen the rage and pain that lurked just beneath his surface. And when Lord Voldemort, with his handsome looks, polished air, and expensive robes had laid a warm and companionable hand on Severus' shoulder and called him 'son,' in that moment Severus would have done anything asked of him.

In the beginning, he'd been asked only for his loyalty and his faith. Then he'd been asked for his mind and his skill. He gave those with self-assured pride and basked in the approval of his chosen liege. Then one night, he was asked to give his rage and his pain. Afterwards, even as he expelled his dinner and collapsed on the bathroom floor, he believed and held to the feeling of camaraderie he'd shared with his brothers that night. They had, after all, done no permanent damage to the Muggles.

Severus would have liked to say that the night Lord Voldemort asked for his soul was the night he turned away. But even that he freely gave away, though every evening he would return to his house and expel his dinner. It was the night that he didn't throw up that scared him. It was the night he came in from an enforcement job and calmly sat in front of his fire in his favorite chair, drank a good Merlot, and ate a roast chicken half that finally opened his eyes. That was the night that Severus realized that his soul was not just tainted, but truly_gone_ . Gone was his soul, and his ideals and his dreams. The only thing left was the rage and the hate. That was the night he turned.

In that turning he finally lifted his head and took a good long look around him. Camelot lay in ruin; the taste of ashes lay heavy on his tongue, Arthur had turned into the dragon that would destroy them all, and Severus had helped to put him on his throne.

But every story of Camelot had to have its Merlin. Severus had Albus Dumbledore. Severus had laid his sins before the old wizard and Albus had given him a chance. It amused Severus in his more contemplative moods to remember Lord Voldemort calling him son and to know that he'd been cast to play Mordred.

Albus had given him all the things that Voldemort had promised. In that giving, Albus had taught him to let go of the rage that filled him. It was a hard lesson and one he still struggled with; a struggle that was made more difficult with every meeting he attended, for the Dark Lord knew the taste of Severus' pain and hate. So with each call to his Lord, Severus pulled up the old feelings and wrapped them around himself like armor to better camouflage his true beliefs. And the more times he clothed himself, the harder it became to let the feelings go when he was done.

So he had his rituals that helped ground him. Death Eater cloak and mask clean, he sealed them away in a hidden chamber behind a stone in the wall. He stoked the fire and eased himself down into his favorite chair. Tipping his head back so it rested against the soft leather, he stared up into the shadowed recesses of the vaulted ceiling.

He waited, counting each inhalation and exhalation.

"Severus?"

Blinking, Severus came back to himself to find Albus standing across from him, eyeing him in undisguised concern. He answered the unvoiced question. "I am fine."

Shrewd blue eyes assessed him as the silence stretched between them. Albus broke first. "Severus, I . . ."

"Do not wish to send me out," Severus finished for him, the words said so often that they had become meaningless. "You don't like it. You hurt for me. You need me. You wouldn't keep sending me back if there was any other way."

The phrases were ones of comfort. The twist that Severus gave the words was anything but comforting. It was all too easy to still hear the fury simmering hotly beneath the words.

Albus flinched but did not retreat. He knew the cost Severus paid better than anyone. "I ask more of you than I do of anyone else," he said softly. "It doesn't hurt if I'm reminded of that fact on occasion."

Severus huffed out a breath but said nothing else, simply leaning his head back again. This too was part of the ritual. While Severus fought to re-center himself, Albus puttered about the room, gnarled fingers delicately tracing over the soft leather spines of books and along the elegant lines of a whiskey decanter, the edges of the cut crystal sharp beneath his fingertips.

As Albus wandered, the soft rustling of his robes filled the room. It was a comforting noise and one Severus had long associated with feelings of security and home. Bit by bit he relaxed and let more of the anger flow from him until he felt he could breathe freely. More tension fell from him as Albus gathered together his Grandmother's bone china tea set and began to manually prepare a pot of tea.

Neither wizard spoke again, Albus because long association had taught him that Severus was in no shape yet for decent conversation and Severus because he still sought to gather his equilibrium.

The rich smell of tea began to fill the room and Severus felt calmer. He would work off the last of the tension tonight as he walked his rounds. As always, though, when he shed the rage and metamorphic armor, Severus felt exposed and raw. He'd only ever been able to stand the presence of the Headmaster during this time until he could rebuild the walls that protected him, but even Albus left him feeling vulnerable.

It was, however, an indication of how far he'd come down that he only twitched when a porcelain teacup was thrust under his nose.

"Tea, contrary to popular belief, is not a cure for all of life's ills, Albus." Severus took a sniff of the steam that curled up from the cup. "And while it is appreciated, I do not believe that chamomile, mint and valerian's much vaunted properties as sleep-aids will avail me much rest this evening."

Albus settled into the chair opposite with the faint creaking and popping of old joints. Severus made a mental note to brew another batch of the arthritic potion. Perhaps if he found a way to make it candy-flavored, Albus could be induced to take it more regularly. His mental musing about using anise for its licorice flavor was cut short as Albus asked him of his night.

So he sipped his tea like a civilized man and not the soulless monster he knew himself to be and gave his report to his personal Merlin. "He is stepping up his efforts for recruitment." Severus' voice turned faintly mocking. "It was much like the early days, with open ideas and discussion all set in a genteel atmosphere of drinks and fellowship. He was also wearing a fairly sophisticated glamour this evening, obviously trying to appear more human, at least to the general followers that support him. He looked much like he did twenty years ago."

Albus drummed his fingers again his armrest for a few beats then stilled. "There were a lot of people present?"

Severus ran a hand up through his hair, pressing hard against his scalp. "There were more than I expected and not just from the traditionally Slytherin families either. Gryffindors, numerous Ravenclaws and a high percentage of Hufflepuffs." Severus pulled a slim scroll from within his robes and handed it across to his mentor. "I've written down the names of those I recognized along with notations on how receptive they seemed to the message."

Albus gave a weary nod of his head. "Yes, that makes sense. Those Hufflepuff families that gave their loyalty during Tom's first rise to power would feel compelled to honor those vows even now."

That statement drew a soft grunt of agreement. "Save us from the loyalty of lemmings."

"Severus," Albus chastised gently.

Severus ignored the rebuke and continued as if he hadn't heard. "From what I saw from my vantage point, most of the crowd was receptive to the message being preached. He stayed away from talk of violent conquest and stuck to the topics that fuel most wizards' fears – Muggles, the influences of the Muggle-borns on our society, our isolation and the general disquiet that many feel at the restrictions that the Ministry places upon us."

"These are restless and uneasy times," Albus sighed. "People are afraid."

"People are fools." Severus made no attempt to hide the contempt in his words. Nor was it any secret that he included himself in the ranks of those fools.

As always, Albus turned a gentle smile in his direction. "People are human. They look for leaders in troubled times. Tom has always been a charismatic leader. He offers them the promise that he can provide answers and security."

"The cost of his security is too high."

"It is a rare man that can see the cost and consequences of his actions. That you see with eyes wide open, Severus, is but one reason why I value your council and insight."

Severus snorted. "Don't flatter me, old man."

Silence once again fell between them as they sipped their tea and pondered the inevitability of the war they were engaged in. It was Albus who once again broke the silence. "There is one last thing. I want you to be careful, Severus, especially of anyone new you meet."

One raven-black brow rose in silent question.

"I don't have specifics," Albus answered, with a shake of his head. "Another Order member had been running some Arithmantic equations for me. They know of you only as my spy, so your identify is secure, but there is a danger coming towards you that we can't pinpoint."

Sitting forward in his chair, Severus braced his elbows on his knees, the fragile teacup resting lightly in his palms. His considerable concentration was now focused only on the man seating across from him. "I can not withdraw from the Dark Lord now, Albus, too much is coming to a head. With him stepping up the recruitment efforts, I feel certain that his next step will be deliberate strikes against the targets he feels are most dangerous to him." Shadowed eyes turned away briefly before coming back to rest squarely against faded blue. "You know as well as I that the Death Eaters are his private enforcement squad. It will be to our ranks that he turns when it comes the time for direct action." Severus sat back and set his teacup aside. "I need to stay where I am."

Albus, in turn, set his own empty cup aside. "Your life . . . "

"Is mine to risk," Severus finished for him. "As you have just noted, I take the risks I do knowing full well what the consequences of my actions are."

Albus fell silent for a moment, his expression pensive and sad. "Very well, Severus, but please be careful. Beware of those who cross your path in unexpected ways."

Severus inclined his head, acknowledging that he both heard and understood the warning that was being given. Then he quirked a small smile. "It is late, Albus, and we are both tired. Go to bed. I will see you at breakfast."

Shaking his head, Albus climbed to his feet. "Very well, though I hope that tonight you too will get some rest." Touching Severus lightly on the shoulder, he went to exit the sitting room. Opening the door on silent hinges, he turned back. "On a different topic, I wanted to commend you on your handling of Miss Granger." He gave a wry smile. "While I think the additional detention is a mite excessive, you did very well by the girl. She is most fortunate that you recognized her state. Without your intervention, she could have done herself a grave harm."

Severus groaned softly and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. He'd forgotten about Miss Granger. Her detention was tomorrow – glancing at the clock on his mantel, he corrected himself – her detention was tonight. "For a charm, Albus. She exhausted herself studying for a bloody charm."

Albus chuckled. "Then I'm sure that she too will now recognize the_consequences _of her actions."

"No, I don't think she will. I suspect that she had no idea of the danger she was placing herself in with her foolishness."

"Then you have my permission to enlighten her, as you see fit, Severus." Albus paused, and then said, "There is one thing I am curious about though." He trailed off and waited on Severus' response.

"As if I could ever keep you from asking. What puzzles you?"

Albus smiled into his beard. "You were most" – Albus paused as he searched for the word he wanted – "polite yesterday during Miss Granger's check ups."

Severus made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. "Polite for my own sanity. In the state she was in, everything was funny to her. There is no point in making a Gryffindor tremble when they are so out of it that they do not even realize the efforts I am putting forth."

Albus attempted to keep his face straight, but the grin showed anyway. "Lack of fear does tend to take the fun out of it, doesn't it?"

Severus shot back, "I have a reputation to maintain, as you well know."

The twinkle that had been lost at the beginning of the conversation returned to Albus' eyes. "Goodnight, Severus." With that, Albus left in a soft rustle of robes and Severus was left in the silence of his rooms.

He felt surprisingly peaceful at the moment. It had felt good to respond to the headmaster's gentle teasing in regards to the Granger girl. _Polite. He'd show the old man polite. _He had been given permission to use any means necessary to explain the consequences. An idea began to form. _Yes, that would do nicely._

Amused with his plans for Miss Granger's detention, he rose from the chair. Maybe he would lie down for a little while. He knew he wouldn't sleep, but rest would be beneficial. Rising from his chair, he made his way down the darkened hallway to his bedroom. Knowing he would be getting back up in a little while, he only removed his heavy dragon-hide boots and his coat. Throwing back the comforter, he lay down in pants and shirtsleeves, letting his body relax into the softness of the mattress.

_To sleep,_ he thought, as gentle warmth seemed to enfold him, _yes, to sleep and perchance to dream beautiful dreams._

* * *

**End Chapter 13**

* * *

**Author Notes:**

**The Excuse **

I know that this chapter took an enormously long time to write. I can give you lots of excuses: went to DragonCon, got sick after going to DragonCon, was looking for a house, bought a house, and moved into a house. Ultimately though, the excuses can all be boiled down to my muse decided to take a vacation without telling me. I simply could not get the words flowing. Then suddenly she was back and the new chapter appeared. I think it actually had something to do with the poking from Lady of the Masque. Thank you to all who waited both patiently and impatiently. -C

**The Title**

The title for the chapter comes from the first line of a song called "Didn't Leave Nobody but the Baby" from the O Brother, Where Art Thou? soundtrack. I couldn't resist.

**The Niding Pole **(just in case anyone asks and because I'm a big geek)

"In the Viking age the most spectacular way of cursing an enemy was by the Niding Pole (the Nithstong or Scorn-Post). They were poles about nine feet (2.75 meters) long upon which insults and curses were carved in runes. Ceremonies were performed to activate the destructive magic of the pole. A horse's skull was fixed to the top of the pole, and it was stuck into the ground with the skull facing towards the house of the accursed person. The pole channeled the destructive forces of Hela, goddess of death. These forces were carried up the pole and projected through the horse skull. The runes carved on the pole defined the character and target of the destructive forces. Among others, triple Thorn Thurisaz runes and triple Is Isa runes, were used to smite the enemy. When used maliciously, these had the effect of disempowering the accursed's will and delivering him or her to the forces of destruction.

Magically, the Niding Pole was intended to disrupt and anger the earth sprites (Landvaettir, Land-Wights or earth spirits) inhabiting the ground where the accursed's house was. These sprites would then vent their anger upon the person, whose livelihood and life would be destroyed. Niding Poles were also used to desecrate areas of ground. This technique is called álfreka, literally the 'driving away of the elves', by which the earth sprites of a place were banished, leaving the ground spiritually dead...

On the Niding Pole, the horse skull invokes the horse rune Ehwaz, using the linking and transmissive power of the rune for the magical working. The horse is sacred to Odin, god of runes and magic..."

Excerpt from Rune Magic: The History and Practice of Ancient Runic Traditions, by Nigel Pennick. Harper Collins, 1993

**The Reviews**

**Wolf, Onyx the Shy **– I'm sorry I took so long. I hope this chapter meets with your approval. I promise to not take so long again.

**Athena Keating-Thomas** – I really enjoyed reading your reviews. I was both amazed and touched that the chapters inspired you to write such detailed reviews. Vector will turn out to be an important player, as you have figured out. And 'Hermy' will play her role as well. I too laugh when Snape mentions her but has no clue. But then I like the little touches of humor – Hermy the house elf and Snape thinking Hermione was pregnant among others.

**EmmaD** – More clues coming as to the rogue line. And Snape will eventually put 2 and 2 together and get Hermione. He won't be happy. As for the sheets, since so many people asked about them, I probably did a bad author job of explaining. The sigil she embroidered is small and is only in one corner of the sheet. That way, when it is tucked under the mattress, Snape won't see it. That is not to say though, that sheets can't come undone. I probably won't include elements from HBP. Since this story is already outlined out to the end, I'm afraid that if I try to include HPB background, that I will get derailed in the story. Plus, Snape needs to have been raised in a pure-blood household for a lot of what he teaches Hermione to make sense. Good question, though.

**Zafaran** – What a lovely review! I was all blushes by the end, especially since it's only just your second unfinished story. I can promise you that it will not remain unfinished. You are very close in your guess about the silver line. It will be clearer as the story progresses.

**Mkh2** – One day, Professor Snape will meet (in some form or fashion) Professor Granger-Snape.

**Yeoldecrazy1** – You asked a lot of good questions in your review. Many I can't answer without giving away future chapters but some I can. Ron equation will also alter the master equation. It will come home to the 'adults' that everyone has a vital part to play in the coming defeat of Voldemort, not just Harry. We never heard anymore about what Draco did to Harry because it was just a plot device to show a parallel. It was never really important to know what happened for the story to take place.

**Severus-Fan** – Rink is going to be Hermione's spy into how well the sheets (and eventually the food) is affecting Snape. Rink makes an excellent spy.

**oolongFinale** – You have a good question about the sigil's location on the sheets. Bad writing on my part. It was clear to me, but I obviously didn't explain it well in the story. The sigil is small and stitched into one corner of the sheet. Hermione will place the sheet in such a way as the sigil will not be seen . . . yet.

**Gulup** – The hex signs can be found here – http// www. folkart . com / hex / meaning . htm

**Anika** – Glad you are enjoying the touches of humor in the story. I'm a big fan of humor in stories especially the 'life if funny' kind of humor.

**Everyone else** – I know I say this every time, but I am truly floored at the response from you guys to my story. Many of you are taking the time to write long reviews and ask questions and postulate theories of your own. I enjoy reading each and every one of them. Thank you.


	14. Ch 14 The Beginning of the End

**AN #1**: I seem to have lost one of my betas so this chapter could be full of issues. I also think it's a bit rushed and not my best work, but here it is. I do hope you all enjoy it anyway. There also won't be the usual review answers at the end of the chapter. Next chapter we'll pick back up with those. -Caeria 

**AN #2:** I do not own Harry Potter. I merely take Hermione and Severus out to play on occasion. I do intend to put them back where I found them when I'm done, a little worse for wear, but with no permanent damage.

**CHAPTER 14 - The Beginning of the End**

Severus went from sleep to wakefulness in an instant, though it would have been hard to tell, had anyone been watching. No telltale jerk of his body gave him away, nor did his breathing change from the deep and even breaths of a deeply-asleep man. The only outward sign of his sudden change in status was a subtle tightening of the long muscles in his legs and shoulders; a tenseness that spoke of tightly-leashed power held at the knife's edge of release.  
The soft _chink_ that had awakened him sounded again. This time he recognized the delicate sound of china and the soft barefoot shuffle he associated with Rink. He was in his rooms. He was in his bed. He was safe. With that realization, he gradually relaxed back into the warmth of his covers.

Eyes half-lidded, a frown marred the line of his forehead as he noted that he was no longer wearing the soft linen shirt and wool trousers he'd laid down in, but rather his long, concealing grey nightshirt. He must have fallen into a deep sleep after he'd laid down and Rink had changed his clothes. Odd that he didn't remember that. He was a extremely light sleeper, when he did sleep, and even house-elf magic wasn't enough to keep him from waking when Rink took his duties to heart.

Severus shifted enough to see the ticking clock hanging on the wall. The old-fashioned hands showed nothing but the time. As far as Severus was concerned, clocks should show the time, not where you were, or if you were late or some other bit of nonsense; it was one of the reasons he took a bit of pride in deliberately sabotaging the teacher's clock in Albus' rooms. His clock showed it to be a little after six o'clock in the morning. _How was that possible?_ He'd laid down sometime around one in the morning after sending Albus on his way, which meant he'd slept for almost five straight hours. Frown deepening, he tried to remember the last time he'd slept for that long, uninterrupted, without the aid of Dreamless Sleep.

As realization hit him, the frown changed into a long-suffering scowl. _The tea! Damn Albus!_What had the old man put in his drink to knock him out? Or had it been some subtle spell that he'd been too preoccupied to notice? He'd long ago made his peace with Albus and considered the older man a mixture of mentor, confidant, and friend, but the man's infernal meddling drove him to distraction. Severus was firmly convinced that it was only the long-held respect in which he held the older man that kept him from strangling the most powerful wizard known in the wizarding world with his own beard. _And wouldn't that make a lovely cover story for the The Daily Prophet?_

Shaking his head with a discontented grumble, he threw back the heavy silk duvet with more force than was absolutely necessary. Rising, he headed for his bath. He would confront Albus later, when he had the time. The old coot would not get away with drugging him, nor would he listen to Albus' standard 'for your own good, my boy' speech. Unfortunately, that confrontation would have to wait; now he had to prepare for the morning's sixth-year N.E.W.T. Potions class. Then there were the special arrangements that would need to be made for Miss Granger's detention that evening after dinner.

Padding into the bath on bare feet, he waved a careless hand towards the faucets, satisfied at the sudden sound of rushing water. As steam began to swirl up into the cooler air of the room, Severus' thoughts swung back to Albus and his underhanded ways. Severus_huff_ed out breath. As if one night of uninterrupted sleep was somehow going to change his circumstances. Although, he would admit, if only to himself, that he had obviously needed the sleep, for he felt both well-rested and sharper this morning than he had in weeks. Nor was he suffering from the usual morning-after lethargy that normally accompanied those nights when he did succumb to the lure of sleep and indulged in the Dreamless Sleep potion.

Pulling his grey cotton nightshirt over his head, he shivered slightly as the cool air slid over his body. Eyes averted from the mirror that hung over the sink, Severus turned his mind to the possible potion that Albus had slipped him.

* * *

Hermione entered the Potions classroom with a mixture of cold dread and giddy anticipation. In fact, the meeting of those two opposites had her stomach so tied in knots, she'd been unable to eat anything at breakfast and had to force herself to drink her pumpkin juice. 

For once, Hogwarts gossip had worked in her favor, her friends believing that she was just nervous about seeing Professor Snape in class again after making a complete spectacle of herself. They hadn't questioned her lack of appetite or her obvious nervousness.

Neville had even come over and offered consoling words. She'd almost spit out her juice when the boy whose Boggart was Professor Snape told her that Professor Snape wasn't all bad and that she should just relax. Relax. Professor Granger-Snape must have been making an even greater impression on Neville than she'd originally thought. Not that it was helping her.

But then, she certainly couldn't tell her friends that relaxing was out of the question because last night she'd let a house-elf magic her into Professor Snape's rooms, and weren't they a nice set of rooms, where she'd replaced his standard Hogwarts sheets with special, home-made sheets. Sheets that she'd made. Sheets that she'd made with magic that had left her loopy and . . . and . . .

Oh, dear God.

Sitting down in her seat, she swallowed hard against the rising nausea and she tried to calm herself. Focusing on pulling out her potions kit, she arranged everything she'd need for that day's lesson on her desk. Cauldron. Check. _I'm calm_. Potions kit. Check. _It will all be fine_. Homework. Check. _Very calm even_.

Hermione dropped her head down into her hands. _Who was she kidding?_

_What if he knew? Had he slept on the sheets? What if he'd seen the sigil? Did he have a good night's sleep? What if he'd figured out someone had been in his rooms? Would good sleep improve his temper and demeanor? What if he'd figured out that she was the one?_

_I'm going to be sick._

Heart pounding, Hermione worked herself up into a right tizzy, the nail of one thumb being bitten down to the quick as her thoughts spiraled out into ever-increasing circles of conjecture and paranoia.

It was little wonder that when the back door to the classroom was flung open with a resounding B_ang!_ to admit a darkly scowling Potions master, that Hermione both jumped in her seat and let out a high-pitched, somewhat strangled yelp.

Professor Snape didn't break his determined stride or even look in her direction as he snapped, "Ten points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger, for disturbing my class."

With those long familiar words, Hermione's nerves melted away just like . . . well, magic. Focusing on the potion the Professor was writing on the blackboard, Hermione fought to keep the wholly inappropriate grin off her face. Students who'd just lost ten points for their House did not grin. But she had at least one of her answers: no, she hadn't been discovered.

She had to wonder at his grumpy-as-usual attitude though. Had the sheets not worked? Her grin slipped a little. She'd have to talk to Rink to find out what had really happened.

Putting aside her curiosity, for the time being at least, she turned her attention to class.

* * *

Leaning into his desk, Professor Snape watched his advanced sixth-year class file out. The Slytherins were still snickering and laughing, secure in their knowledge that the most horrid teacher in Hogwarts' history was on their side. They felt safe in the knowledge that as long as they were under his protection, no punishment would come their way. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs went out as a group, opting for the safety-in-numbers approach.

Longbottom, remarkably enough, chose to walk out of the room on his own, his head held high, although one hand clenched tight around his book bag while the other seemed to be patting gently against something within the bag. That had better not be the boy's familiar, Severus thought. If he caught Longbottom bringing that toad to his class again, he'd turn the boy into a fly and feed him to the amphibian.

With Longbottom gone, that left Potter and Weasley, who were carrying on a soft-voiced conversation while waiting patiently for Miss Granger to gather her books and papers together.

Overall, it had been a rather successful class, only ruined by his still simmering anger at Albus' underhanded tricks in dosing him. He still couldn't decide if he was angrier at the fact that Albus had slipped him something or the fact that Severus hadn't caught him at it. He did admit, though grudgingly, that having a full night's sleep made his little bit of teaching hell moderately acceptable. Eighty percent of the class had managed to brew more or less satisfactory potions, no one had died, and he'd managed with just a few words and a sneer to rile the Gryffindors to fever pitch. He had no doubt that he and Minerva would be having _polite words_ that evening. There was just one dark spot on his otherwise bright morning.

Hermione Granger.

Snape had years of taunting Gryffindors under his belt. He was an expert at reading the signs of their impotent rage andfrustration -- clenched hands, gritted teeth, flushed faces, and eyes that glittered with suppressed tears. He'd been particularly creative today, a good night's sleep doing wonders for his wit, and Granger, out of all her House, gave him no more than small smiles and worried frowns. In fact, if he were to name the look, he would say that it was almost the look that Albus normally gave him, a somewhat muddied mixture of fondness, indulgence, and concern.

He'd hit new heights of acidic vitriol in today's lesson in an effort to get the girl to react and he'd barely garnered a response. The indulgent half-worried smile she'd worn through his last rant had completely discomfited him to the point where he'd finally just left them alone to brew the assignment. Once again he was confronted with the mystery that was Hermione Granger . . . a mystery that he was determined to solve. This evening's detention was going to be most entertaining.

* * *

Hermione gathered her books together into a neat pile in front of her, as she let her friends' chatter wash over her, listening with half an ear to Harry and Ron discuss the chances of Hufflepuff passing Gryffindor in the House rankings. Slytherin, this year, was in a dismal third place. Hufflepuff, however, was only a few points shy of Gryffindor. Anything could happen in these last days.

Thoughts on Hufflepuffs, Slytherins and House points evaporated as Professor Snape appeared in front of her. "Miss Granger, remain. Weasley, Potter, go."

Professor Snape's gaze never left her own as he dismissed the boys with casual indifference, as if they weren't worth summoning even his usual derision.

From the sharp intakes of breath behind her, she knew that the Professor's attitude had its desired effect. Hermione also had no doubt that Professor Snape knew how Ron and Harry would react as well as she did. Knowing that points were about to be taken if she didn't do something, Hermione spun sharply in her seat, fixing both boys with a stern look. Seeing the mulish look on Harry's face and the shock of red that was suffusing Ron's neck and ears, Hermione knew she'd caught them both just in time.

She shook her head sharply at her stalwart defenders and both boys wilted, although Harry sent a last dark look over her shoulder in Professor Snape's direction. "Go on guys, I'll catch up with you at lunch. I do have to discuss my detention with Professor Snape."

From the glaresaimed in the professor's direction as they walked off, it was nosecret that both boys thoughtthat the detention was unfair. Hermione, on the other hand, rather thought a single detention was getting off easy. Ron and Harry hadn't heard what she'd said, notjust once, but twice, about his eyelashes.Not that she had any intention of ever telling them. That was a secret she was fully planning on taking to her grave.

As Ron and Harry reluctantly left the room, Hermione focused back on her professor who had been watching the by-play between the three of them with one brow cocked up at an amused angle.

Best, she decided, to get her apologies out now before they discussed her upcoming detention. However, Hermione found that face-to-face with her professor, her well-rehearsed apologies had fled and left her floundering. "Sir, I --"

Where did she start? She had so much to apologize for. She began again. "I wanted to apologize for Tuesday, sir. I was not in my right mind. I don't clearly remember everything that happened during the day; some of it is sort of gray and fuzzy, but what I do remember of my behavior is inexcusable."

Professor Snape didn't say anything, and as the silence grew Hermione fought the urge to fidget under his stare. When he finally spoke, she almost sighed in relief.

"You had no idea of the danger you placed yourself in, did you?"

She slumped slightly in her seat. "No, sir."

As Professor Snape cocked his head slightly to one side, Hermione got the feeling that she was being studied and evaluated. It was a peculiar feeling to have the regard of those depthless eyes trained fully on her. "You know now?" he finally asked when he seemed satisfied with his perusal.

"Ron and Ginny _explained_," she said, grimacing slightly at the word. When Professor Snape said nothing, she took that as permission to continue. "It never occurred to me that exercising my magic could in any way be harmful. I've done advanced magic before with no side effects." As soon as the words left her mouth, she cringed slightly. That was probably not something she should have said.

"Yes, precocious, aren't you?" he commented, with just enough mockery that Hermione winced. She'd never met anyone who could puncture an ego with such surgical precision as Professor Snape. You never even felt the blade until you looked down and discovered you were bleeding.

Then abruptly his whole demeanor seemed to change. He was no less intimidating as he stood in front of her, his air of unyielding displeasure still radiated off of him, from his scowling black brows, to his crossed arms and down to his planted stance. He still looked solid, immovable and dangerous. Yet, to her eyes, he looked changed. The closest thing she could compare it to was as if a previously guarded room had just dropped its wards. The room remained the same, but was suddenly accessible.

Then again, maybe she'd just been studying this man too long, looking for the little nuances of his character and finding what she wanted to find, seeing things that weren't really there. Maybe she was as mental as Ron had always claimed.

"What do you want from me, Miss Granger?"

Hermione wasn't sure what surprised her more -- his question or the way he asked it. His question had been civil; his manner curious and touched with just a hint of weariness.

Then again, she thought, maybe, just maybe, she was right about seeing things in this confusing man.

"I . . ." She stumbled over the words, not sure exactly what he expected her to say. She'd never really thought about wanting anything from him. She'd been so focused lately on what she could give to him. Of course, he didn't know that. From his point of view, she supposed he would think she was after something from him.

"Want, Miss Granger," he continued when she faltered. "It is a simple concept. For most of this past year, you have sought me out in some form or fashion. I am neither stupid nor blind. You have deliberately placed yourself in my path. You have modified your behavior in my classroom. You have even gone so far as to coach Longbottom, outside of my class, into what will be a passably acceptable grade this year. _What. Do. You. Want?"_

In that next moment, Hermione took another step toward adulthood. "May I think about your question, sir?"

Amazingly enough, Snape nodded. "Very well, you may have your time to think. We will see if you make adequate use of that time or not."

Then that shift of perspective seemed to reverse, and Hermione was once again looking at Professor Snape rather than Severus Snape. She wasn't sure how she knew, but the knowledge was there.

"I originally, Miss Granger, had your detention set for immediately after dinner this evening. That has now changed. You will meet me at the front door immediately following your last class of the day. You will remain in your uniform and bring your traveling cloak."

Her curiosity was definitely piqued. Occasionally Professor Snape sent students out onto the grounds or the edge of the Dark Forest to gather ingredients but those detentions were usually conducted under Hagrid's care. She'd never heard of an outside detention being held by Professor Snape.

"What is the nature of the detention, sir?"

He scowled at her. "You will find out in due course. Now, you mentioned a moment ago that you had brewed advanced potions with no detrimental effects."

"Yes, sir."

While what Hermione had mentally dubbed 'Snape's wards' where still very much in effect, at her respectful tone, he seemed to relax somewhat again. He was, at least, continuing in a more normal tone of voice, the biting edge of his words moderated to mere annoyance levels. "The differences between your previous experiences and the incident this week is most profound. In the case of you brewing the Polyjuice -- and yes, Miss Granger, I am well aware of _all_ your experiences with that particular potion – you brewed over an extended period of time. In addition, while a complicated potion in regards to timing and ingredients, the potion _itself_ is not complicated. It does not require great amounts of magic to create. I also believe you cast a Protego as a fifth-year?"

Wondering how he'd known that, Hermione nodded and then added in a verbal, "Yes, sir."

"Again, Miss Granger, a single incantation. In order for you to suffer the magical depletion that you did, you would have had to cast _your_ spell over many concurrent days and to keep casting for an extended length of time." He paused, and then added, "I'm going to guess that the charm that brought you to the sorry state in which I found you was a protection charm of some sort."

Hermione jerked and turned wide, startled eyes back up to her professor's face. "How did you know?"

Professor Snape, who up until this point has been standing in front of her desk, turned and walked over to his own desk. He leaned back against its bulk, much the same way she did when she was in Professor Granger-Snape mode. "I know, Miss Granger, because Unforgivables and powerful protection charms always use up the most magic within a person." He paused again, fixing her with a raised brow. "And for much the same reason," he finally added.

He stopped again and looked at her expectantly. "What might a reason be, Miss Granger?"

A thrill went through her, both at the new knowledge he was offering and the fact that he was asking for her input. Oh, dear God, he was asking her. He was asking. Her. Hermione Granger. Professor Severus 'I hate Gryffindors' Snape was asking her to answer a question. This was . . . it was . . . better than Christmas. Better than chocolate.

Hermione straightened up in her seat, and as had become her habit of late, she tucked her fingers beneath her legs to remind her to keep her hands down. But even without her hand raised, there was no mistaking the sudden energy that charged her frame. The creation of the magical sheets had taught her the answer to this one. "You have to mean them," she answered. "Not just say you mean them, or that you want to mean them, but really mean them."

She paused and closed her eyes to better remember the magic that she'd channeled while creating the sheets and sigil. She remembered her thoughts and desires to make Professor Snape's life easier; to protect and guard him from all that life would throw against him. Opening her eyes she gave her professor a small smile. "Half-hearted efforts won't get results. You have to be willing to put everything you are into it, to invest yourself into the spell."

"Adequate." His response was fairly neutral, but Hermione got the impression he was pleased with her answer.

"Children, Miss Granger, are not taught these types of spells until the end of their Seventh year for numerous reasons. You are one of the oldest in your class, a circumstance that worked in your favor in this instance. You were _lucky_, Miss Granger. And while Gryffindors seem to believe that luck is forever on their side, She is a rather fickle and unreliable savior and should not be counted on."

"But beyond the danger of overtaxing yourself, how could that be dangerous?"

"Tsk, tsk, Miss Granger, how very disappointing. You are not thinking. Again, I might add. I told you that there were two common types of spells that required significant investiture from the spellcaster."

Then it hit her. "Oh. Unforgivables. You have to be willing to put your heart and soul . . . " She trailed off, her thought uncompleted as her mind raced ahead to the implications of what Professor Snape had just revealed. In making the sheets, Hermione had invested herself in their making. She could remember the warmth of the old magic as is upheld her, sustained her and ultimately worked through her. She couldn't imagine what harm she'd have done to herself, to the basic fundamental core that made her Hermione, her very soul, if the magic and power she'd invited into herself had been evil, had been designed to hurt or kill.

Hermione shuddered at the thought. Someone touched with that kind of magic would forever bear the scars. Focusing once more on the teacher watching her warily, she knew something else that she and Ron and Harry had only speculated about. Professor Snape had cast them. She didn't know how many or how often or under what circumstances, but she could almost see the wounds. In that moment, instead of being frightened or repulsed, she was impressed by his strength of will. He really had walked in the darkest of places. But to have the strength to come back out again . . . she had no words for that.

* * *

Severus waited, watching as the girl processed the information he'd just given her. He noted how expressive her face was, her thoughts and emotions displayed for everyone to see. Miss Granger's pleasure at his conversing with her was easy to read in her body language and sparkling eyes, though even now he couldn't fathom why his regard was so important to her.

He continued to regard her closely as her eyes slipped closed. He could tell she was replaying her experiences with her charm. As awe, wonder and delight played across her face, he had to wonder exactly what charm she'd been attempting. He was also not going to ask. His best guess would be some type of advanced protection charm for Potter. To ask her for the information could possibly discourage her. He scowled at that thought. He hated having to walk the fine line between preparing Harry Potter for the coming confrontation with the Dark Lord and protecting the boy and his friends from their own attempts at preparation.

Then the girl made the leap to the Unforgivables. Her eyes wide, she stared at him. There was horror there, as he would expect as the realization of just what he was and what he was capable of finally sunk into her mind. What he didn't expect was the look of open admiration that lit her face seconds later.

In fact, truth be told, that expression made him very uncomfortable. Pulling his teaching robes tighter about his body, he stood up to his full height. "Think on that, Miss Granger, and remember you are to meet me at the front doors immediately after the last class of the day. You are dismissed." Spinning on his heel, he retreated to his office, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

Later than evening, Severus waited with barely-concealed impatience. Glancing up at the great clock that hung in the entry hall he noted that the girl had almost fifteen minutes left before their appointed meeting time. Severus was early and had no one to blame except himself for his impatience. Well, he supposed he could blame the Headmaster, as he'd expected his meeting with Albus to last longer that it had.

Crafty old bastard, to make his denials about drugging the tea last night and then hustling Severus off to Miss Granger's detention so that Severus couldn't continue to question him. And deny it Albus had. In fact, it was a quite the masterful performance, much better than the last innocent act he'd given for Severus when the Potions master's name had somehow ended up on the Hogsmeade chaperone list. Albus had actually been believable this time. Not that Severus actually believed him.

Hearing the light tapping of shoes on stone overhead, Severus automatically stepped further back into the shadowed alcove in which he stood. From his position he could see Granger standing on the second floor landing, the stair leading downward having just shifted away. A slight smirk lifted one corner of his lips. The girl would not be able to get down the stairs before their set meeting time, which meant that she would earn a points deduction for being late. His amusement was petty, he knew, but upsetting the point balances were one of his few enjoyments in life. Everyone thought he picked only on the Gryffindors.Truth was, he just made their point deduction more obvious and vocal to keep up appearances. He took an equal number of points from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, he was just sneakier about it.

Then he saw a most extraordinary thing, something he'd never seen happen with a student. The stairs that had just swung away, with a rumble of grinding stone, swung back into place at Miss Granger's feet.

He heard her words of thanks to both the stairs and the castle, though both were faint at this distance. Her delighted laugh however, carried bright and clear across the open space of the entryway. It looked as is Miss Granger had figured out that the castle was borderline sentient. The girl had gone beyond just recognition though and was actively interacting with the building. His smirk turned into a small, genuine smile. She'd figured out one of the castle's secrets. His opinion of her rose another small notch. It would seem that perhaps he'd been correct in his estimation of her potential, even if the girl had a deplorable lack in her own safety.

The sense of satisfaction did not show when he stepped from concealment.

"Good afternoon, Professor Snape," she greeted with a broad smile, the same open and honest smile she'd been greeting him with since the beginning of the year. A smile that invariably made him think that she was up to something. Time had proven that she wasn't, but even still, his first reaction was to doubt. Doubting was easier and infinitely safer in the long run.

He could see that as instructed, she carried her traveling cloak neatly folded over one arm. He could also see the bright curiosity shining in her eyes. Other students came to him with dread weighing down their steps. This one came to detention practically vibrating in place with her pent-up need to ask him questions. Questions he wasn't ready to indulge her in just yet, although he gave her points, if only mentally, for containing her enthusiasm. That she had learned a modicum of restraint in the last year inclined her further in his favor.

"Put on your cloak and follow me." Without waiting to see if she complied with his order, Severus spun on one heel and headed out the great doors that marked the entrance to Hogwarts. Keeping his pace fast, but manageable for Granger, who even now he could hear hurrying up behind him, he headed towards the gates that guarded the Hogwarts property.

Stepping beyond the gates, he turned, watching as Miss Granger caught up with him, her breathing a little accelerated, although he wasn't sure if that was due to the fast walk or from her obvious excitement at this undertaking.

"Come here, Miss Granger, and take my hand."

Satisfaction mixed with a sense of that same discomfort he'd felt early in his classroom filled him as she took his hand with neither hesitation nor fear, though her eyes widened in surprise. He pulled her closer to him so she stood in front of him, back to his front. His hand, still clasped firmly around hers, anchored her against him. "We will be Apparating in tandem. The ride is rougher than a solo Apparition and many find the experience unsettling." He allowed the sneer she couldn't see to sound in his voice as he added, "When we reach our destination, do try to refrain from getting sick on my boots."

As Severus felt her stiffen in his arms with righteous indignation, he Apparated them.

* * *

Hermione thought that Apparition with Professor Snape would be much like the jump she'd made with Rink. She'd barely noticed when Rink had moved the two of them from her bed to Professor Snape's rooms and back again. She quickly discovered how wrong she was. Her vision went black as great pressure surrounded her, pressing in on her ribs, stifling the breath within her lungs until the need for air became a resounding scream in her head. It was as if she was being squeezed out of one of her parents' tubes of toothpaste. At the point she thought she couldn't take any more, it was over. She fought to take in great gasps of smoggy tasting air as waves of nausea swept over her. Sagging into the arm wrapped across her ribs, she was ever so thankful for its unwavering strength.

She did not, after all, lose her lunch but it was a close thing. Thank God, Professor Snape had changed their leave time to before dinner; she didn't think she could have done that on a full stomach. Thoroughly embarrassed by her reaction to her first Apparition, she fought to get herself back under control. She was cognizant enough though to notice that Professor Snape did not withdraw his support until she had swallowed back the bile and stood steady on her feet once again.

As soon as she found her balance, he dropped her hand and stepped away. No longer concerned with keeping her lunch down, Hermione took an opportunity to look around her. She was surprised to find herself looking up into the dirty marble façade of St. Mungo's. She turned a confused expression to her teacher. "St. Mungo's, sir?"

"Consequences, Miss Granger." Drawing himself up to his full height, he headed towards the door. As if it was an afterthought, he tossed over her shoulder, "Now, come along. You have dawdled long enough."

_Dawdled! She had not been dawdling. _Fuming, she pressed her lips together and stormed off towards the steps, passing Snape in her furious rush. She was halfway up before she realized that she'd just been neatly played. She knew he used his words to both deflect from his actions and throw people off balance. He'd been nice to her after the Apparition and then deliberately made her angry. And she'd fallen for it.

_Bugger it all!_ _Blast the man to hell and back again. _Blushing at her own thoughts, Hermione diverted the new part of her that seemed to be gaining quite the affinity for swearing. Before she graduated, she was going to have the mouth of a sailor, and it was going to be his fault.

Tamping down on her temper, Hermione slowed as she neared the top of the broad steps. Grasping one of the bronze door handles, she started to pull the door open, fully intending to hold the door open for her professor and bow him through with all the courtly manners she could summon up. Turning slightly, she fixed a pleasant smile on her face as she gave a small half-bow to her professor. "After you, sir." _Sneaky-arsed Slytherin. He won't catch me again._

Manners fell by the wayside as Professor Snape ignored the front doors, and her, and upon reaching the top step, turned right to step behind one of the broad pilasters that supported the roof overhang. "Leave the door, Miss Granger and come this way."

Feeling stupid, once again, Hermione bit back her sigh and followed Snape. She had just stepped behind the column when a doorway shimmered into view.

Now she was really confused and feeling even stupider, when Professor Snape, with a broad smirk, mimicked her own aborted earlier efforts and bowed her through the doorway with all the aplomb and genteel manners of a Regency gentleman.

Face flaming, Hermione stepped through the doorway, took two steps and stopped. She was in an open foyer that reminded Hermione vaguely of the reception area at her parent's dental practice. There was even a witch sitting behind a large desk that blocked passage to the corridor beyond. This was nothing like what she remembered from her first visit to St. Mungo's when Nagini had bitten Mr. Weasley. Hearing the door swing shut behind her, Hermione waited for her professor, unsure of exactly where she was supposed to go. She was surprised when Professor Snape stepped past her and towards the witch who waved them past her with barely a glance in their direction.

Professor Snape led her into a long corridor with doors branching off at irregular intervals. She could hear a muted hum of activity coming from behind the doors as they passed each one but her silent guide did not stop, nor deign to explain what was going on behind the doors. But Hermione had the distinct impression that he did know what was going on behind each door.

Occasionally, they passed others in the hallways. Each time, Professor Snape would greet the person with a nod. To Hermione's growing amazement, people returned Professor Snape's nod with respectful greetings of their own. It didn't take her long to figure out that Professor Snape walked these hallways with all the surety that he walked the Hogwarts halls. Curiosity nibbled at her, but she knew better than to ask the questions she longed to voice. She'd find out their mission when, and only when, Professor Snape decided.

She risked a small smirk of her own at the black-clad back leading her deeper in the hospital, confident that contrary to first-year stories, the Potions master didn't really have eyes in the back of his head. She'd show him that she'd learned the lesson of patience . . . or, at least, a good imitation of patience.

Still they wound deeper into the building, going up flights of stairs, and once taking what she was fairly sure was the wizarding equivalent of an elevator. They finally slowed to a stop at the base of a broad staircase that appeared at the end of one corridor. At the top of the short flight of stairs, a plump witch with short, curly grey hair and a wide smile stood, beaming down at them from her vantage point.

"Severus, welcome back." The woman's smile grew larger. "And right on time, too."

Hermione was startled to see her professor sketch the woman an elegant half-bow. "As usual," he answered, with the air of someone delivering the punch line of a long-standing joke between friends.

Hermione stared, not sure if she was more shocked at this kind, grandmotherly-looking witch who was joking with her professor, or at her professor who was joking back. It was the kind of thing that made one doubt all the _truths_ that one held about the world.

Her world quickly righted itself as joking professor transformed back into prickly potions teacher. "Manners, girl," he snapped. "And quit gaping like a landing fish." The rebuke did its intended job and Hermione snapped her jaw shut.

Coming down the stairs the woman stopped in front of them, extending her hand in Hermione's direction. "Welcome to St. Mungo's, Miss Granger."

At the woman's use of her name, Hermione cut a quick look over to her professor. The Healer obviously caught the look. "Don't fret, dear. Severus has told me of your brush with magical depletion. Now, I'll want to give you a quick once-over myself."

Professor Snape sniffed disdainfully behind her. "Not that you don't trust myself or Madam Pomfrey in our diagnosis or treatment."

The Healer continued as if Professor Snape hadn't interrupted. "After your check up, we'll get to work in the ward."

Again Hermione cut a look over her shoulder to her professor.

He gave her a regal incline of his head that practically screamed, 'you are a peon but I'm deigning to address you.' "Work, Miss Granger. This is, after all, your detention. Healer Alveres runs the Spell Damage Ward. I thought you might benefit from seeing exactly where you almost landed yourself."

* * *

_Left foot up, left foot down. Right foot up, right foot down. _They were almost there. Almost home. She'd never imagined that the walk from the gates that marked the edge of the Hogwarts' grounds to the front door was so long. _Left foot up, left foot down. Right foot up, right foot down. _What had the Founders been thinking when they made it so far away? _Left foot up, left foot down. Right foot --_

"Stop for a moment, Miss Granger."

The last thing Hermione wanted to do was stop, not now, when the lights of the castle were so close. She was dead on her feet and any thoughts she'd ever had about being a Healer had been well and truly destroyed. She was hungry. Whatever the house-elves at St. Mungo's were doing, keeping the cafeteria in edible food wasn't one of their duties. She was mentally drained. If St. Mungo's was about learning the consequences, then this was quite possibly the most informative detention she'd ever had. A shudder worked itself down her spine as she remembered some of the things she'd seen. To top it all off, her school robes were covered in things that Hermione was fairly positive the house-elves would never be able to get out and there was something vile squishing in her left shoe.

To make matters worse, as an under-aged student, she was not allowed to perform magic off of Hogwarts and Professor Snape had not bothered to Evanesco her uniform for her. She was fairly positive that he was ignoring her sorry current state, and smell, on purpose. She, however, was refusing to let it anger her. A condition she noticed that seem to irk him in turn.

It was no wonder the Headmaster always seemed to be faintly amused when he dealt with Professor Snape, even when the professor was being a right horrid git. It was like playing a silent game of one-upmanship -- whoever broke first, was the loser. There was also no doubt that Hermione had lost most of the rounds of play today. She was an amateur playing against a master of the game and she'd lost her composure and her temper way to many times.

Determined to do better, she forced a smile and swallowed the tiny sigh that wanted to escape. Coming to a halt, she turned to face Professor Snape. "Sir?"

She didn't even have time to wonder at his actions before his wand was in his hand and she felt magic tingling along her skin. Glancing down, she noticed that most, but not all, of the questionable stains on her clothing were gone. She took a deep breath and realized she smelled better too. The forced smile turned into a genuine one. "Thank you, sir."

Professor Snape stared at her thoughtfully for a moment and then said, "You did not embarrass me this evening." He gave her a small nod and then started walking again.

Hermione gazed at his retreating back. That had almost sounded like a 'well done.' Feeling a surge of energy, Hermione skipped a few steps to catch up with her professor. Falling in behind him, she let herself bask in his praise. She had no doubt that it was praise. Maybe not praise by the standards of any of her other teachers, but by the standards of Severus Snape, it was high praise indeed.

* * *

Over the next few days between studying for her end of term exams and classes, Hermione pondered the question Professor Snape had asked her: _what did she want from him?_

Finally, feeling as if she was getting nowhere and with the Hogwarts Express leaving tomorrow, Hermione realized she was out of time. So she did what she'd done in every other aspect of S.N.O.R.T. when it came time to make decisions. She retreated to S.N.O.R.T. headquarters, better known as her four-poster bed. She pulled the curtains closed, set the wards and silencing charms, laid back against the pillows, and stared up into her canopy. It was time for some serious thinking.

Twelve hours, some serious thinking, one bottle of ink, and two scrolls of paper later found Hermione standing before the door to Professor Snape's office. This time, thankfully, the pixies jousting in her stomach were from nerves and not dread. The time for dread was past – exams had been taken, trunks had been packed and all that was left was to tell Professor Snape what she wanted, before boarding the Hogwarts Express for home.

She'd thought long and hard about his question to her. She'd come up with a dozen responses to his question – everything from the childishly simple '_she didn't want anything from him_,' to the completely outlandish "_I want to know all your secrets_.'

She smirked a little at that one. She'd entertained herself during her all-night thinking vigil with imagining Professor Snape's face to some of her more extravagant answers.

She was jerked from her mental ramblings when the door in front of her was jerked open. "Are you going to stand there until your train leaves, or were you actually planning on knocking anytime soon?"

Hermione couldn't help it. She grinned at him and then quickly attempted to wipe it from her face at his answering scowl. "I'd like to come in, sir."

His scowl still firmly in place, Professor Snape stepped backwards, allowing her to enter. She settled into her usual chair across from his desk and waited until he was seated.

He wasted no time on pleasantries. "Well, get on with it," he said, gesturing with one hand. "Tell me how much you enjoyed my teaching this year, how you hope that next year will be just as grand. Leave your yearly parting gift in the corner and be off with you."

Hermione glanced into the corner in question and realized that a small stack of gifts was piled up haphazardly behind the door, most bearing bows in Slytherin green and silver.

"I don't have a parting gift, sir. I came to answer your question."

His attention, which had been more focused on a stack of papers on his desk, turned to her. "Continue, Miss Granger."

Now she did have his full attention and once again, that unwavering stare made her nervous. Gripping the edge of her seat, she forced herself to give the answer she'd finally decided on in the wee hours of the morning. "I suspect that, for good or ill, there are a lot of people who want things from you. Things you aren't in any position to deny, even if you wanted to."

She paused, trying to gauge his reaction to her words, but Professor Snape's face was an expressionless mask. Swallowing hard, she continued. "I don't want to be one of those people, sir. I don't want to demand anything from you. Yet, I find that I do wish something, but only if you are willing."

She'd gotten to the hardest part. Hoping for the best, she pushed on. "I want to know what you know. I want to understand . . . well, everything."

"You want to understand everything," he repeated.

She couldn't decide if what she heard in his voice was disbelief or derision.

She flushed, a bit embarrassed. "You're thinking me a know-it-all again. You've given me a lot of think about this year, Professor Snape. And I have realized that knowing and understanding isn't always the same thing, you know. I want to _understand_. I think you can teach me that."

"Mr. Weasley is pureblood, he could answer any questions you have about the wizarding world."

She gave a shake of her head. "Ron can only explain so much. Ron is smart." At Snape's raised eyebrows, she added, "A lot smarter than most give him credit for. His gift is seeing the obvious that everyone else misses. He can cut straight to the heart of the matter. What Ron doesn't get is the subtleties."

"For subtleties, Miss Granger, you would do better to look to a Slytherin than a Gryffindor."

She sighed. "You know, I'm getting tired of everything always coming back to our Houses. But basically, you're correct. While Ron is a pureblood, he can't tell me why Malfoy hates me. He can't tell me why Salazar Slytherin, all those years ago, broke up a friendship and walked away from a school he co-founded and obviously loved. And over what? Muggle-borns. Are we really that dangerous? Have times not changed?"

"Is that all you wish to understand, the ideological thinking behind most pure-blood rhetoric?"

"No, sir. That isn't even the tip of the proverbial iceberg."

He was studying her again, tapping one finger against his lips as he did so. She tried hard not to fidget under his regard. His words, when he spoke were not what she was expecting.

"You are providing for your disciples a show of wisdom without the reality. For acquiring by your means much information unaided by instruction, they will appear to possess much knowledge, while, in fact, they will, for the most part, know nothing at all; and, moreover, be disagreeable people to deal with, as having become wise in their own conceit, instead of truly wise."

Something in the way he said the words made her think he was quoting something. Her puzzlement must have shown on her face.

"Socrates, Miss Granger, and a definition that I think fits you well."

She thought back over the words – _appear to possess much knowledge, while in fact, they will, for the most part, know nothing at all. _She supposed that from his point of view, that really had been her during her time at Hogwarts.

The moment of truth was here. "Will you teach me?"

"I will consider it."

* * *

To those of you who do Christmas, consider this a gift. –C


	15. Ch 15 New Beginnings

**Author's Note: **Hello faithful (and new) readers. FFN has put in place a new policy that forbids authors from responding to reviews inside of individual chapters. So, I'm going to start responding to reviews via the new email link. Just so you know, I may not respond to everyone, but I'll try to respond to as many people as I can. It will probably be done much as I've been doing though, meaning that I'll be more likely to respond if you ask a question or make some telling point or another, or if you make me laugh. And just so you know . . . you guys rock with the reviews. Thanks, Caeria

Thanks to Potion Mistress for helping me the wayward commas, dropped words and other assorted mistakes.

* * *

**Chapter 15 – New Beginnings**

Severus turned onto his side and opened his eyes. They felt scratchy and bruised; he had no doubt that if he were to look into a mirror that they would be bloodshot.

He shuddered, despite the warm blanket that covered him. He'd had one of his more graphic nightmares and could smell the acrid scent of his own fear and sweat clinging to him. There would be no more sleep this night. Throwing back the covers, he turned and sat on the edge of bed. Rubbing at his temples, he wondered if he had any of his headache potion left -- not that the last dose had done any good. The headache he'd laid down with still pounded a dull rhythm behind his eyes.

The window against the far wall showed only the deepest black beyond its dirty panes. He glanced at the old-fashioned, wind-up alarm clock sitting on the bedside table. Its battered tin face showed two fourteen in the morning. It would seem that his sleeping patterns had returned to normal with a vengeance. Those last days in the castle, when sleep had come quickly, had made him decidedly uneasy. Now, after two days in his own home, normality had returned, and whatever potion or spell Albus had afflicted him with had worn off. It was almost comforting in a way. He was not quite ready for his death, and those nights of dreamless, peaceful sleep had put him too much in mind of the grave.

Getting to his feet, he padded across the threadbare carpet of his room, stripping off his nightshirt as he went. Dropping it haphazardly onto the wooden floor, he stepped naked into the bathroom. First, he needed a shower to wash the stink of the nightmare away. Then, maybe, he would work on the salve sent to him by Healer Eddington. He sighed as he remembered what else he had to do today. It was no wonder he'd had that particular nightmare. With summer here, and Hogwarts closed, Severus was no longer under the supposed watchful eye of the Headmaster. The Dark Lord would expect more of his time and participation. It was time to step back down into the murkier depths of wizarding society.

* * *

Hermione flipped over onto her stomach and buried her hands beneath the pillow, bumping her fingers against her wand. Straightening her legs, she stretched her toes down towards the end of her bed and let out a wide yawn. Her first week back from Hogwarts had been spent making the rounds of her relatives, telling highly-edited stories of her school year, and having lie-ins every morning. It was her own secret luxury that she rarely got to indulge in while at school.

Cracking open one eye, she peered at the glowing red numbers on her alarm clock. Half-past nine in the morning. Oh yeah, having a lie-in was a wonderful thing. Letting out a contented sigh, she spared a thought for Professor Snape and hoped that he, too, was having a good lie-in on his new sheets.

_Hmmm, maybe another thirty minutes, then I'll get up_. Closing her eyes, she was just starting to doze back off when a terrified scream came from downstairs. Hermione bolted upright, visions of Dementors and Death Eaters attacking the house filling her mind with fear. Grabbing up her wand, Hermione tore through her room. Running down the stairs, she barreled through the living room and into the kitchen, wand drawn and a hex formed on her lips.

Expecting to be confronted with Voldemort's followers and a fight for her life, Hermione froze at the scene in front of her. Paulina Granger, all five-foot-five of her, was standing defiant and ready for battle, her back against the stove. Her upraised hand held a cast-iron skillet, primed and ready to be swung.

Her mother's target was . . .

"Rink?"

Rink didn't move from where he crouched on the floor, both arms curled protectively over his bald head. If anything, he seemed to curl even further into himself when Hermione called his name.

"Hermione, what's going on?" Paulina snapped, her eyes never leaving the creature in the middle of her kitchen. "What is that thing?"

_Uh, oh._

Trying to catch her breath and calm her frantically beating heart, Hermione let out a shuddering exhale. Visions of Death Eaters and Voldemort slowly faded from her mind. The underlying fear remained though, as she'd just had a taste of how vulnerable her parents were to attack.

Gathering her somewhat scattered wits around her, Hermione focused back on the issue at hand. "Mum, you can put down the pan now."

At her daughter's words, Paulina lowered the skillet slightly. She did not, however, set it back down on the stove.

Hermione still couldn't believe Rink was in her kitchen. What was the elf doing here? Glancing at her mum, who was still holding onto the skillet, Hermione went over to Rink. As she sank to her knees, Rink prostrated himself on the floor, his rather long nose touching the glazed tiles.

"Rink is sorry. Rink will punish himself most severely. Rink only wanted to find Hermy. Rink did not mean to frighten."

If Rink wasn't so absolutely pitiful looking, Hermione might have been tempted to a laugh at the absurdity of the whole situation. Running her hand along Rink's shaking back, she tried to calm him down. "Rink, there will be no punishing. You're fine. My mum's fine. We just weren't expecting you."

Rink, however, was ignoring all attempts at consolation and his shaking had turned into great heaving sobs of distress. Unsure of what to do at this point, Hermione turned to her mother. "Mum, you remember me telling you about the house-elves and S.P.E.W.?" At her mother's nod of confirmation, Hermione said, "This is Rink. He's a house-elf and a friend of mine."

At Hermione's use of the word_ friend,_ Rink's sobs changed pitch. Between every other sniffling sob, Hermione could hear him muttering. "Friend, Young Miss calls Rink friend. What does Rink do? Rink frightens Young Miss' Line Matriarch. Rink is a bad elf."

Seeing that the once-frightening creature was now a puddle of misery in the middle of her kitchen floor, Paulina finally put down the skillet and took a step closer. "That's an elf?" she asked, her tone dubious. "Not at all what I had pictured when I read _Lord of the Rings_ all those years ago."

Hermione quirked a small smile. She had gotten her love of books and reading from her mother, but where Hermione preferred non-fiction, her mother enjoyed just the opposite. In fact, Paulina Granger, with countless fiction and fantasy books under her belt, had understood the implications of Hermione being a witch long before Hermione herself had.

"House-elf, mum. And if I'm interpreting the wails and muttering correctly, he's rather upset that he scared you."

At this point, Rink warbled, "Rink is a bad elf," in such a pitiful, tear-choked voice that both Paulina and Hermione winced. That was all it took though for the practicality of motherhood to kick in. Hermione had, after all, inherited her bossiness from her mother as well.

Paulina clapped her hands loudly. "Enough! Hermione, Rink, both of you, up off the floor."

Hermione scrambled to her feet and was somewhat startled to see Rink climb to his feet as well. Paulina took one look at her daughter and planted her hands firmly on her hips. "Hermione Granger, you are running around the house in your nightclothes. Get upstairs, get dressed, and then get back down here."

Hermione, heading for the door, heard her mother continue, "Now, Rink, is it? I don't know how you run things at that magic school, but this is my kitchen. There will be no punishments and no more hysterics."

Hermione missed whatever Rink said in return as she raced back upstairs to her room. After a speedy change of clothes, Hermione came back down to the kitchen to find a completely unexpected sight: Rink was sitting in one of the kitchen chairs, his bare feet swinging a good five inches above the floor. In front of him were a glass of orange juice and a plate of jam-smeared toast. Rink had a confused and somewhat startled look on his face, but was dutifully eating the breakfast before him. Her mother, meanwhile, was drinking in Rink's form like she was taking mental pictures.

As Hermione caught her mother's eyes, Paulina grinned. "An elf in my kitchen."

Hermione shook her head in bemusement. Other Muggle mothers, she was sure, would be screaming about now. Hers was delighted.

"Mum, do you mind if I talk to Rink? Maybe find out why he's here?"

Wiping her hands with a dishrag, Paulina nodded. With a last glance at Rink, Paulina left to head into the living room.

Pulling out a chair from the table, Hermione sat beside Rink, setting her wand on the table in front of them. Not exactly sure where to start in asking her questions, Hermione decided on the easiest conversation first. "Rink, you don't have to eat the breakfast if you don't want to."

Rink looked at her with eyes even wider than normal. "Rink must eat. House Matriarch made Rink food and said to eat. She is not Rink's House Line, but Rink will not disobey."

Hermione pondered that a moment and then decided that it wasn't the easy conversation. _House Matriarch? House Line? Definitely questions for another time and place._

Time to try the other conversation. "Why are you here?"

Rink pulled his knees up into the chair, so he was curled into a small ball. His voice was small and full of misery when he answered Hermione's question. "The Master left Hogwarts. No students, no teachers. Rink begged the Master to take Rink."

At Rink's downcast demeanor, Hermione guessed the professor's answer. "Professor Snape told you to stay at Hogwarts."

Rink nodded. "Said Rink belonged at Hogwarts. Master would not listen when Rink said Rink belongs with Master of Potions." The elf seemed to hunch even further down into himself. "Master has no house-elves. No elves to care, or cook for him." Rink's voice dropped into a scandalized whisper. "Master has no elves to clean for him."

Hermione realized exactly what that meant. "Without you there to change the bed linens, he won't have access to the sheets. He'll fall back into his insomnia." Hermione strangled the urge to curse.

"Master thinks the School Master made him sleep."

Hermione frowned slightly in confusion before deciphering the sometimes tangled titles that the elves seemed so fond of. "School Master? Oh, you mean Headmaster Dumbledore."

Rink nodded again.

That surprised Hermione. She'd asked Rink after her first Potions class if Professor Snape had slept well, but after that, between studying and exams, she'd let the topic slip. She should have known better. Nothing was ever easy with Severus Snape. "You mean that Professor Snape thinks the Headmaster did something?"

As the elf hesitated, Hermione prodded him a little. "Come on, Rink, we are in this together. Hermy does not plan on letting anything bad hurt Professor Snape." Her reassurances did the trick.

"Master slept well the first night, but thought School Master had magicked him."

"Let me guess, Professor Snape became suspicious." Hermione stood abruptly and started pacing across the small kitchen, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. Then she groaned. "Bloody hell, I should have thought of that. Of course, he'd become suspicious if all of a sudden he started sleeping well. So what did he do then?"

"Master worked more and walked the castle halls. Master did not go to his bed."

Hermione continued her pacing as she thought out loud. "Okay, that makes sense. He's suspicious of sleeping, so he avoids lying down. Even when the man is not trying to be difficult, he's difficult." Plopping back down into her chair, Hermione rested her forehead against the tabletop. "Professor Snape hasn't even really agreed to teach me yet and I'm already tired of thinking."

Rink, in shared misery, thumped his forehead down against the tabletop, as well.

* * *

"Wake up, Hermione."

Hermione opened sleep blurred eyes to see her mum and dad standing in her room at the foot of the bed. Her father was looking bemused while her mum looked . . . actually, Hermione had no idea how to explain the look on her mother's face.

From the washed-out light just starting to seep in under her blinds, she guessed it was still very early in the morning. Her sluggish brain took a few seconds longer to put together the clues, but eventually it recognized that her parents were both dressed to leave for work, identical white lab coats clean and crisp. The question was: why were they still here and waking her up?

"Wha' the matter?" she asked around a jaw-popping yawn.

"I think you'd better come with us, dear."

Something in her mum's voice banished the remains of sleep. Hermione got out of bed, her parents' strange behavior prompting her to grab her wand. Following them down the short hallway that led to the stairs, Hermione started cautiously down.

Halfway down, as the main living area came into view, Hermione stopped in confusion. The living room had been transformed, or more accurately, it had been cleaned. It wasn't that Paulina Granger was a messy housekeeper, but she was a professional working woman. After a long day at the office, neither of the Doctors Granger was much interested in cleaning. So the house had always been neat, if somewhat cluttered and lived-in.

Now it was spotless. Every surface was dusted; the books in the floor-to-ceiling cases flanking the fireplace were neatly arranged. The wood floors gleamed in the pale, early morning light coming in through the windows and Hermione could smell the lemon-oil polish that had been used on them.

Taking a few more steps down, Hermione stopped at the first floor landing. She glanced over to shoulder at her mum and dad.

Paulina still had that strange expression on her face. "The kitchen is the same way," she said. "When I went down this morning to fix breakfast for your father and me before heading out to work, I found a fresh carafe of coffee, fruit, cereal and what looks to be homemade bread, laid out on the table." Her mum fidgeted a bit with the edge of her lab coat before asking, "Did you do this?"

Hermione sighed. "No, it wasn't me." _But I have a good idea of who did it_.

Going down the rest of the stairs, Hermione went into the middle of the room. She wasn't even sure this would work for her, but she had a sneaky suspicion that someone was waiting for her to call. She raised her voice and said firmly, "Rink."

A few seconds later, a grinning house-elf appeared before her. There was no missing the pleased look on his face.

Hermione heard her father, who had not met Rink the previous day, gasp in surprise. She was rather pleased that except for that one startled intake of breath, her parents were taking Rink's sudden appearance in stride. HA! a small part of her crowed in triumph. _Take that, all you pure-blooded wizard snobs, who don't think Muggles can understand or accept magic._

Dropping down heavily onto the couch, Hermione tried to ignore the fact that she was still in her pajamas. She had no doubt her hair was sticking up all over her head. It was way too early to be having this conversation. "Rink, did you clean the house?"

Rink bobbed on his toes in obvious delight. "Rink was very happy to help family of Young Miss." Rink executed a short bow in the direction of Hermione's parents who were still standing on the landing. "Rink was very bad to scare Mother of Miss." Rink's ears wilted a bit as he added mournfully, "Rink has no one to serve at the castle."

And really, what could Hermione say to that?

And so the next three weeks of summer went, with almost daily visits from Rink, who'd taken to coming in early and cleaning the Granger's house before everyone else was up. After some initial protests from Paulina, and Hermione's explanation that it made Rink happy since he couldn't take care of Professor Snape, the Doctors Granger quickly settled into the luxury of having a freshly-made breakfast and hot coffee waiting for them before they left for the office, and the ability to come home to a sparkling clean house.

Hermione tried not to feel guilty about S.P.E.W.

Soon enough, the midpoint of her summer break was reached. This summer, as in years past, Hermione was going to spend the rest of the time with her friends at Grimmauld Place. In preparation, Hermione and Rink had several discussions about how he could not follow her. In fact, Hermione wasn't sure that Rink could follow her to Grimmauld since the Black house was still hidden by a Fidelius Charm. She didn't want to take the chance, though. House-elf magic seemed to be somewhat of an unknown, but still very powerful force. When Dobby had been freed from the Malfoys, Harry had said that Lucius Malfoy had almost been afraid of Dobby.

So Hermione found herself packed up with Crookshanks in his carrier and her trunk at her feet while she waited for the Knight Bus to take her to the Burrow where she'd meet up with Ron and Harry before they all relocated to the Black house.

She wondered, as she waited, if she'd see Professor Snape at Grimmauld Place, and if he'd have an answer for her.

* * *

The appearance of Professor McGonagall at the door of number twelve, Grimmauld Place that afternoon caused a bit of a stir. For all that the Black house was Order headquarters, there were surprisingly few guests. The Inner Circle of the Order met only when the occasion merited it, the thought being that the less contact between key Order members, the less likely Voldemort's spies would be able to gather information on Order members and activities.

McGonagall's presence lent an almost party air to the old house since she was the first guest that the current residents of the Black house had seen in over a week. News from 'outside' was always welcome, especially since Harry, Hermione, Ginny and Ron were pretty much confined to the house for their own safety, restrictions that Harry, in particular, chafed at. There was, after all, only so much one could do when confined indoors. Hermione was using the time to needle the others into finishing their summer coursework. Ginny had already finished hers. The two boys still had work to do.

That the well-respected Head of Gryffindor arrived with the much less well-respected Head of Slytherin was the only damper on the whole affair. Although, truth be told, Hermione was rather happy to see him. Or, it was the only damper until Professor McGonagall pulled out three scrolls bound with multicolored ribbons.

"Since owls aren't allowed delivery to Grimmauld Place because of the Fidelius, I thought I would deliver your grades to you personally." McGonagall pinned each of them with a stern eye. "Please be respectful of each other."

Ron's audible gulp as he took the scroll offered to him made Hermione smile reassuring at her friend when he cast a nervous glance back at her and Harry. Ron twisted the scroll between his hands, as he made a motion with his head at the doorway. "I'll . . . um . . . yeah, I'll just go upstairs."

As Ron headed out the door, Hermione cast a glance at Professor Snape who stood quietly in the far corner of the study. She knew Ron was worried about his Potions grade. He needed a passing grade in Professor Snape's class in order to apply for Auror training post-graduation. If he didn't make it, she knew he would be devastated. However, she could read nothing in Professor Snape's expression except impatience.

McGonagall gave Harry his next with an encouraging smile. "I'm very proud of you, Harry," she said quietly. Harry took his scroll and also headed for the door. Hermione knew he would probably head out to the overgrown gardens in the back of Grimmauld Place. It had become a quiet retreat, of sorts, for him.

Then it was her turn. Hermione knew she'd done well, yet she could never quell that faint feeling of nervousness that always gripped her before the big reveal.

This time there was something in the way that Professor McGonagall was looking at her that ratcheted up her normal pre-score nervousness into true fear -- a fear that sat cold and heavy in the pit of her stomach. _Have I failed something?_

McGonagall was no longer smiling benignly as she handed Hermione her scroll. Instead, she wore the strict, no-nonsense mask that was usually only seen when she was forced to deduct points from her own House. "If you feel the need to . . . talk, Miss Granger, I will be here, along with Professor Snape, at Grimmauld for the rest of the day." With a small nod, Professor McGonagall left the study.

Oh, God, she'd failed something. The fear turned to lead in her stomach. _I've failed._ She never failed. Yet, her Head of House had just offered the opportunity to_ talk_, if she needed it.

_Oh, God._

Ignoring her dour Potions master, who had taken out a book and was seated next to the one grimy window in the room, Hermione retreated across the room until she could sit down in the faded wingback chair next to the cold hearth. She had no doubt that Professor Snape was watching her, even though his eyes were downcast to the book in his hand. She didn't know why he wasn't leaving like Professor McGonagall had, but she wasn't going to embarrass herself in front of him. If she had any hope of him agreeing to teach her, then she had to show that she could take bad news like an adult.

With a trembling hand, she broke the Hogwarts seal and untied the colored ribbons representing each of the four Houses. Taking a deep breath, she unfurled the parchment. As she did so, a gold velvet bag that had been miniaturized, magically regrew to normal size and slid down into her lap. Ignoring the bag and its contents, Hermione focused instead on the overdone calligraphy printed on the vellum.

_Ancient Runes . . . . . . . . . . Outstanding_

_Arithmancy . . . . . . . . . .Outstanding _

_Astronomy . . . . . . . . . . . Outstanding_

_Care of Magical Creatures. . . . . . . . . . . Outstanding_

_Charms . . . . . . . . . . . Outstanding_

_Defense Against the Dark Arts . . . . . . . . . . Exceeds Expectations_

_Herbology . . . . . . . . . . . Outstanding_

_History of Magic . . . . . . . . . . Outstanding_

_Potions . . . . . . . . . . Outstanding_

_Transfiguration . . . . . . . . . . . Outstanding_

Running her eyes over the list again, she frowned in confusion. She'd passed. She'd passed everything. Well, she could have done a bit better in Defense. She didn't understand. Thinking there was some mistake, Hermione started to flip to the second page of the scroll when she was startled by a great yodeling yell that sounded suspiciously like Ron. The sudden pounding of footsteps overhead and the down the stairs confirmed it was Ron. Two seconds later, Mrs. Black, awakened by Ron's yell, started her screeching. Between Ron and the portrait, it sounded as if the house were full of banshees.

Hermione glanced over to Professor Snape. The scowl and contemptuous curl of his upper lip did not reassure her. However, her professor did not seem troubled. He'd not even drawn his wand. Unsure if she should be concerned with the yelling or not, Hermione tucked her scroll and the velvet bag into the side of the chair and headed for the door. Before she got there, the door flew open and Ron ran into the room, picked her up in his arms, and twirled her around, grinning like a madman. "I did it! I did it! It's mine!"

By this time the other residents of Grimmauld, made up almost exclusively of the Weasleys, had gathered in the study doorway, drawn by Ron's gleeful shouts and the screeching of Mrs. Black's portrait. Mrs. Weasley saved Hermione from her spinning. "Ronald Weasley, put Hermione down this instant and stop that yelling. What is the meaning of this? You've disturbed the whole house. We'll be listening to Mrs. Bl—"

Ron, grinning unrepentantly from ear to ear, held up the gold badge clasped in his hand. The sight of the Head Boy badge stopped Mrs. Weasley in her tracks.

Eyes wide, Molly reached out to take the medal. "Head Boy? You made Head Boy? Oh, Ron!" Molly proceeded to pull Ron into a rib-cracking embrace.

In that moment, Hermione felt cold realization wash down over her. She knew why McGonagall had offered to talk with her. Retreating from the backslapping and congratulatory crowd of redheads, she quietly returned to her chair and picked up the velvet pouch. Pulling the drawstring open, she tipped the badge out into her palm. There in her palm, incised into cold metal was the word PREFECT, not HEAD GIRL. Closing her eyes, she gave into the disappointment for a moment, but only for a moment.

Feeling eyes on her, she looked around and found Professor Snape watching her with interest. A year ago, she would have expected to see malicious glee on his face. A year ago, she might have interpreted the expression he now wore in just that way. Now, she interpreted that keen regard as evaluating. Determined to show him that she was an adult, she graced him with small smile while tucking the badge into her pocket. His answering nod sent a warm feeling of pride through her. Gaining his respect had become very important to her. Schooling her features into something she hoped resembled best wishes, she went to rejoin the rejoicing Ron.

Someone had closed the door, drowning out Mrs. Black who continued to scream in shrill tones. The occasional BLOOD TRAITOR! and MUDBLOOD FILTH! could be heard faintly through the door, but no one was paying her any mind.

As soon as Hermione rejoined the group, Ron had her around the waist again. This time, she only made one spin before he put her down again. "Hermione, isn't this great! You and me, Head Boy and Head Girl. It'll be a great seventh year."

Smiling at her friend's exuberance, Hermione made sure none of her own disappointment sounded in her voice. After all, Ron and Harry had been making jokes about her getting the Head Girl's badge ever since first year. "I didn't get Head Girl, Ron."

At Ron's suddenly shocked expression, as well as the quiet that descended on the rest of group, Hermione faltered a bit. Old habits came to her rescue as she added, "Besides, if you'd actually read the copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ I got you for your birthday, you'd know that the school policies were changed some years ago so that the Head Boy and Head Girl are always from different Houses. It was considered to be more fair and equitable that way."

Ron was staring at Hermione in shock, and she could feel the eyes of the others in the room on her as well. It was an uncomfortable feeling and she fought to keep her composure against the disappointment that still sat like heavy lead in her stomach. In one uncharitable moment, she wished that Ron would just let the subject drop. She wasn't to get her wish though as Ron sputtered in outrage on her behalf.

"But . . . but, then who _did_ get the Head Girl badge?"

The question wasn't really directed towards any one person, but Snape answered, his deep voice cutting across the excited babble on the other side of the room. "Hannah Abbott."

Silence met his words, until Harry, pushing his way through the crowd of Weasleys, hissed, "You bastard!"

Only Hermione's quick grab to Ron's wrist stopped him from going to Harry's side. Not sure how to diffuse the situation, Hermione could only watch as Harry advanced on Snape. "You voted against Hermione, just because she's my friend."

Snape crossed his arms across his chest, his perceived indifference to Harry's accusation, fueling the anger that was starting to fill the room. Hermione wondered, in that moment, if she was the only one to see Snape palm his wand with that seemingly nonchalant move.

The professor flicked a condescending gaze over Harry from the tips of his grubby, too-large trainers, up to his unruly hair. The cold, thin smile that graced his lips was filled with such scorn that Professor Snape couldn't have ignited Harry's temper more even if he'd spit at him. He sneered, disdain dripping from every word, "Not everything in the wizarding world revolves around you, Potter, although, I'm sure you find that hard to believe. In any event, you are only partially correct, though I did vote against Miss Granger receiving the Head Girl's badge."

With an inarticulate snarl of fury, Harry drew his wand and pointed it at Snape's chest.

The sight of the drawn wand roused Hermione from her stunned surprise at how quickly the situation had gone tits up. "Harry, no!" Hermione yelled.

Harry, eyes glazed and hand starting to tremble with his barely controlled rage, didn't hear her. His focus was solely on Professor Snape. Everyone in the room held their breaths, unsure if moving or saying anything would set off the conflagration that was building in front of them.

Snape had the audacity to chuckle. It was, Hermione noted, a deep sound. If the devil laughed, he'd sound like that. It made the hair on the back of her neck stand at attention. Professor Snape took a step forward until his chest just touched the tip of Harry's wand. When he spoke, his voice had dropped down to almost a whisper, soft and silky. "Go ahead, Mr. Potter, cast your curse. What will it be, hmm? The Entrail Expelling Curse? Or perhaps Crucio? Or maybe, you want to jump straight to Avada Kedavra?" Snape smiled, crooked teeth bared in a shark-like grin. "Go on, cast it. I'm unarmed. I won't stop you. I'll even help you sound it out. Aaa vaa--"

At that point, Minerva McGonagall came back into the room. "Harry Potter," she snapped, taking in the scene in a rush, "withdraw your wand this instant."

For an eternal second Harry did nothing. Finally, he took a shuddering breath. When he spoke, his voice had a strangled quality to it. "He –"

McGonagall cut him off sharply. "I don't care what Professor Snape may have said or done. You are the one pointing a wand at an unarmed man. You are also an under-aged wizard. If you cast a spell now, Professor Dumbledore will have no recourse but to expel you from Hogwarts. Lower your wand, NOW!"

Harry reluctantly lowered his wand, though murder still shone brightly in his eyes as he glared at Snape.

Molly took that moment to step forward, forced good cheer attempting to diffuse the situation. Briskly and efficiently, she shooed her family out of the study, quizzing Ron and Harry about what dishes they wanted for the celebratory feast that would soon be spread out across the battered kitchen table.

Only Hermione and Professors McGonagall and Snape remained in the room.

Professor McGonagall was glaring at Professor Snape, her lips pinched tightly together. Snape, meanwhile, had settled back down again into his chair and seemed unperturbed by the whole affair. Hermione didn't understand how he could be so blasé about it. She was still shaking and she hadn't been the one with a wand pointed at her chest. Her emotions were in a whirl – disappointment at not getting Head Girl, anger at Harry, anger at Snape, terror at what Harry had almost done and a very real fear that in those few tense moments that Harry was going to kill Professor Snape.

"Severus Snape, what did you do?" McGonagall hissed, very reminiscent of her feline Animagus form.

Professor Snape shrugged one shoulder and leaned back further in the chair. "Potter's sidekick asked who received the Head Girl badge. I answered. I also informed him that I voted against Miss Granger receiving the position."

McGonagall's eyes narrowed down to slits. "What else did you say?" she ground out. "Harry would not have pulled his wand on you for just that!"

"Unfortunately, for him and the wizarding world at large, he did precisely that," Snape spat in return, his own expression of bored indifference finally cracking.

Hermione wondered if her teachers even realized that she was still in the room. She was feeling distinctly uncomfortable. This was not an argument that she should be privy to. Yet, her own sense of fair play wouldn't let her stay silent. She had the uncomfortable realization that Professor Snape had been accused of being at fault too many times with no one to stand for him. This, now, was everything that she'd wanted to accomplish with S.N.O.R.T.

Taking a step towards the two arguing teachers, Hermione said, just loud enough to cut across their yelling, "It's the truth, Professor McGonagall."

The professor whirled around, the hem of her robe swirling around her feet at her sudden movement. "Miss Granger!"

The surprise in McGonagall's voice confirmed Hermione's suspicion that her Transfiguration professor had forgotten her presence in the room. However, it wasn't the surprise in McGonagall's voice that caught Hermione's attention. It was the fleeting look that had crossed Professor Snape's face at her words of defense. She would almost label it pleased astonishment. Hermione felt the old anger stir. No one should be astonished at having someone come to their defense.

In an effort to keep her composure, Hermione held tight to that flare of anger as she continued. "Professor Snape didn't do anything. Ron was excited about being named Head Boy. He thought I was Head Girl. When I told them I didn't get the position, Harry assumed that it was because Professor Snape kept me from getting the position to get back at Harry."

Hermione might have laughed at the dismayed and somewhat stricken expression that crossed McGonagall's face, except that the look told her that Professor Snape had not lied to Harry about voting against her. Still, she was determined to handle her disappointment with dignity. She continued as if she hadn't seen Professor McGonagall's reaction.

"I do not believe that Professor Snape would use his authority in such a manner. If he voted against me then I'm sure that he had valid and logical reasons."

"I told you, Minerva," Professor Snape said, his voice holding a certain amount of smugness.

Minerva whirled back around and fixed an accusing glare on Snape. "Very well, Severus, you were indeed correct." The older witch seemed to deflate, her shoulders and spine losing their rigid cast. The look she gave Professor Snape was now more exasperated than angry. "Please see to Miss Granger, Severus, if you would, and I will go find Harry."

Hermione was startled to actually see Professor Snape roll his eyes. "Oh, yes, go find precious Potter before he does something rash. It would be so unlike the boy, after all."

It seemed that even Professor McGonagall didn't know how to offer a retort to that and with only a muffled _harrumph_, she headed out of the room.

This left Hermione staring across the room at her professor. She said the first thing that came to mind. "What did you tell Professor McGonagall?"

Surprisingly, he answered her, while watching her reaction. "I told her that you would neither cry nor wail at not getting the Head Girl badge. I told her that you would look for the reasons behind the actions."

Hermione didn't know quite how to take his approving tone, so she took refuge in her next question. "Did you really vote against me?"

Again, he answered the question. "Yes, I did, although you being Potter's friend had nothing to do with it."

Struggling hard to keep the hurt out of her voice, she asked, "Then why?"

Professor Snape motioned her to sit back down. When she'd done so, he considered her a moment over steepled fingers. She knew his mannerisms well enough by now to know that whatever he was about to say or do, had been given careful thought and that even now he was weighing his words with care.

"You have told me that you wish to learn to think. You tell me why."

She faltered then and he could see her confusion. Taking a modicum of pity on her, he began for her. "How are the Head Boy and Girl chosen?"

_Hogwarts: A History_ proved its worth once again. "Names are nominated by the teachers and a vote is cast among the House Heads. The Headmaster has the deciding vote in case of a tie."

"And on what criteria are nominations made?"

"Academics, Leadership, Personality, and . . ." She paused a moment to think. "Integrity," she said at last.

Professor Snape gave her a nod of satisfaction. "Now," he said, "tell me why I would have voted against you."

Thankfully, he could see that she was taking his words seriously. In this instant, he did not mean to be cruel, but thinking critically meant seeing oneself without the lens of ego.

"I am the highest academically ranked student in my year."

He was pleased that she said this with a quiet assurance and not boastful pride. It was another sign of her maturity and that he wasn't wasting his time on her. When he made no comment, she continued.

"But, I'm not exactly popular."

He made of noise of contempt. "Popularity is not part of the criteria."

She worried at her bottom lip as she thought. "But approachability is. It's part of the personality aspect. Harry and Ron are my only close friends. I mean, I'm friendly with others in my year, but not all that close," she hesitated, and then continued. "I think I intimidate many of my classmates."

He snorted at that statement. "Those you do not intimidate, you scare."

At her startled expression, he elaborated. "Not deliberately, I'm sure. But scare them you do. You have little patience for those less gifted or determined than yourself. This lack of patience comes across as both rudeness and bossiness."

He caught her staring at him and scowled at her. He needed no Legilmency to know her thoughts. "Yes, Miss Granger, an affliction I also share. However, we are not talking about my shortcomings. The question is, can you see a homesick, Hufflepuff, first-year coming to you for comfort? Better yet, can you see a Slytherin coming to you for any reason?"

"No, sir."

"Good. Honesty with oneself is a hard thing to learn. Now, turn the problem around. Look at it from a different perspective. Why did we choose Miss Abbott and Mr. Weasley?"

Hermione thought for a moment before she began her answer, trying to see Hannah and Ron from a professor's perspective. "Hannah is Hufflepuff. Anyone needing a shoulder will feel comfortable going to her. Her grades are solid; not spectacular, but good. She's outgoing, friendly and has a lot of friends across the Houses."

Snape flicked his fingers dismissively. "Look beyond the obvious, girl. Why is she a good choice considering the times we live in?"

Then Hermione understood, and felt somewhat saddened that the war against Voldemort was influencing even the choice of Head Boy and Head Girl. "Hannah's not pure-blood, but she's from a respected, long-standing, wizarding family. Death Eaters killed her mother this past year." Hermione paused then, unsure if she should continue, but Professor Snape seemed unaffected by her words. _Had he been there the night Hannah's mother was killed? I'll probably never know. I'm not sure I want to know._ Her gaze locked with her professor's, Hermione continued. "Hannah's a symbol that no one is safe, that it isn't just Muggles or Muggle-borns."

"And what of Mr. Weasley?"

Hermione dropped her gaze back down to the lap and thought about Ron for a moment for looking back up. "Ron's grades aren't all that great but he's your average student. Everyone in the school knows him because of Quidditch and being Harry's friend." She gave her professor a half-smile. "Ron is fun-loving. He's a pure-blood, so even though he's friends with me and Harry, the Slytherins and other pure-bloods would feel comfortable going to him, yet at the same time he does not believe in the pure-blood stance. He is a living example of another choice."

She fell silent, thinking about Ron and Hannah. They were good choices, but she could still feel the sting of her own disappointment. Later she would have to try to explain things to Ron and Harry. The memory of Harry standing with wand drawn flickered before her. Even in defending this man before her, she wasn't about to stop her defense of her friends.

"They think you were unarmed earlier. You weren't. I saw you palm your wand," she accused.

One black brow swept up in response to her statement. "And yet Potter didn't know that. He was prepared to curse what he believed to be an unarmed opponent."

Struggling to make sense of it all, Hermione defended her friend. "Harry wouldn't have done it."

Professor Snape's lips twisted into a sneer. "Are you so sure of that, Miss Granger? Are you so very sure that he wouldn't try to use the anger so readily available to him? That he wouldn't take the easy way out? Dark Magic, Miss Granger, is so tempting because it is so very easy. Anger, pain, revenge, hate – they are all there, right at our fingertips. So easy to call and use. So very hard to turn away from once you've tasted that easy power."

Hermione shivered at what she heard in his voice. He was speaking from personal knowledge. "Harry will defeat Volde-" she started to say Voldemort, but changed it as she saw her professor stiffen – "the Dark Lord, he won't become him."

"Who are you trying to convince, me or yourself?"

"You push and taunt him. If you don't want him to give in to his anger, why do you goad him?"

"Because no one else will," he snapped. "If the boy is to break, and shatter the wizarding world with him, I would prefer to know before the fateful hour when Potter stands before the Dark Lord."

Hermione stared at him, eyes wide in sudden understanding. "You don't believe he can win," she said, her voice rising in disbelief.

Professor Snape leaned back in his chair, looking suddenly very tired. "As Potter is now, with his mind and emotions in turmoil, no, I do not believe he can win."

Hermione wrapped her arms around her middle, suddenly feeling very small. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Did you not ask me to teach you?"

Her eyes rose to meet his, completely shocked at his words. She barely got out a stammered "Y-Yes."

"Well then, Miss Granger, unlike some, I do not believe that ignorance is bliss. In order for a person to think for him or herself, they must have the ability to deduce and reason. You cannot think, girl, unless you know the facts and what you really face."

Hermione was stunned. He was going to teach her. "I-I don't know what to say," she finally stammered.

He smirked at her. "The typical response is thank you."

* * *

**A/N #1:** I realize that a lot of the elf scenes are not really necessary to the further development of the story. They are there purely for my amusement. I hope I didn't bore you all to tears.

**A/N #2:** Since Hermione's name is one of the characters from Shakespeare's _A Winter's Tale_, I took the name of Hermione's mother (Paulina) from the play as well.

**A/N #3:** I was tempted to incorporate Spinner's End as Severus' home into the story. However, much of what this story is based on is dependent on Snape being pure-blood. I've never held the notion of 'Lord' Snape or that he came from a wealthy background. In response to that, I've created a sort of wizarding pure-blood version of Spinner's End. I hope that everyone can maintain his or her suspension of disbelief.

**A/N #4:** As I was writing Snape's discussion with Hermione about the lure of using Dark Magic, I was struck with how very reminiscent it was of Luke and Yoda's discussion about how easy it is to use the dark side of the force. You guys have no idea how much I wanted Hermione to say, "The Dark Side, easy it is." I refrained though.


	16. Ch 16 Summer at Grimmauld

_Because you guys have been so patient (and I use that word loosely for some of you) in waiting for this chapter, I've decided to go ahead and put this chapter up on Fanfiction even though I've only heard back from one beta so far. For those of you who read Ashwinder, once the second beta has made her changes, the final version will go up there and I'll replace this chapter here._

_For the impatient among you, thank you for all the emails nudging me along. They kept me going when I was beating my head against this chapter. _

_For those of you who thought I had abandoned this beast – no such luck. I'll be writing on it until it is finished. _

_Once again, JRK owns everything, I'm just playing in her sandbox._

_Last but not least, thanks to the Potions Mistress for beta-ing this chapter._

* * *

**Chapter 16 – Summer Begins at Grimmauld Place**

After excusing herself from Professor Snape, Hermione made her way out of the Black house and into the neglected garden behind Grimmauld Place. She wasn't surprised to find Ron out in the garden as well, perched on the edge of an overturned marble bench, watching as Harry paced angrily along a weed-choked, gravel path like a caged animal, his face twisted into a snarl of hatred.

Harry's wand was clenched in a white-knuckled grip and every couple of steps magenta-coloured sparks erupted from the end. They sizzled faintly as they hit the ground.

Taking a seat on the bench next to Ron, she gently nudged his shoulder with her own. Just as gently, he nudged her back. And with those two simple touches, everything was right between them. Leaning into the solid strength of his shoulder, she contemplated the still angry Harry.

_Do I ask and potentially set Harry off again? Or do I sit quietly and wait it out?_

Watching as Harry made a few more tight turns along the path she mentally threw up her hands. _Well, that does it. I ask._

Keeping one eye on Harry, Hermione spoke softly to Ron, asking if Professor McGonagall had come out to talk to Harry.

Ron shrugged. "McGonagall came out and," Ron hesitated a moment, clearly thinking about how to best phrase the encounter between his best friend and his Head of House, "Well, she didn't exactly yell. Mum yells, so I know what that's like. She did more of an 'I'm disappointed in you, Mr. Potter' sort of thing."

Hermione eyed the still furiously pacing Harry. "I take it that it didn't go over well?"

Ron snorted. "Like a Bludger to the head."

They both grew silent, before Ron spoke again, his voice soft and somewhat unsure. "You said that Head Boy and Head Girl aren't ever from the same House anymore, right?"

"That's right."

Ron was even more hesitant and he ducked his head before he continued. "Did you not get Head Girl because I got Head Boy?"

Hermione spun on her perch to face the red-faced Ron. "Of course not! Don't you dare think that. I didn't get the spot because I wasn't right for the position. It was more --"

Harry, who had indeed been listening, broke into the conversation before she got past the next few words. "How can that bastard get away with this? How can McGonagall condone it?" Harry shouted, swinging his wand like a sword, magenta sparks swirling around in the air like angry fireflies.

"Harry –"

Hermione was interrupted again as Harry spun on his heel to face the bench where Ron and Hermione sat. "No, Hermione. You always take their side. How can you just let them do this? It's not fair!"

"Actually, Harry, it's more than fair."

Her words shocked Harry into silence. He stood staring at her in confusion before he found his voice once again. "How is this fair?" he demanded. "The Head Girl spot has been yours since your first exam, and that bastard took it from you."

"Would you listen to yourself? Professor Snape doesn't have that much power. All the House Heads vote and Professor Snape is one vote. One, Harry."

"He –"

"He what?" she questioned, her own frustration with the situation and Harry bleeding into her voice, colouring her words a bit sharper than she'd intended. "Let me guess, he cast _Imperio_ on everyone and made the others vote against me." She didn't bother to hide the rolling of her eyes or her snort of derision. "Don't be ridiculous, Harry."

The fight seemed to seep out of her friend then. His shoulders slumped in defeat and the sparks finally stopped coming from his wand. "Don't you care?" he asked plaintively.

"Of course, I care," she snapped. Then she stopped and took a deep breath, letting it out with a noisy _whoosh_. Hermione gave Harry a somewhat lopsided and apologetic smile. "Of course, I care," she repeated, though this time without the strident and shrill overtones. "I've been hoping and thinking and planning about being Head Girl from the first time I read _Hogwarts: A History_. I'm disappointed, Harry."

As if to underscore her words, a few frustrated tears managed to slip free from her control. She was quick, however, to dash them away with the heel of her hand. "But as much as you don't want to hear it, and Lord knows you are probably tired of me saying it, but Professor Snape is not the enemy. And he is right, this fight isn't all about you, and it most certainly isn't all about me and whether or not Hermione Granger gets Head Girl."

Hermione turned to Ron, bumping his shoulder with her own again. "Ron will do a great job as Head Boy. He'll bring lots of things to the position. Things that maybe I wouldn't have brought to being Head Girl." She gave Ron a sly smile. "Or at least he'll bring great things to the position if he actually learns to take on the responsibility and take points like he should."

"Oy! I took points as a Prefect," Ron sputtered indignantly.

"Ron, you didn't take any points from anyone when you became a Prefect our fifth year. You didn't even think you could take points."

Ron scowled at her, though there was no real temper behind the look. "I forgot. I had a lot on my mind that year."

"Uh, huh," she agreed, while still making it sound as if agreement was the last thing on her mind.

She turned back to Harry who had calmed the rest of the way down as she and Ron had started their familiar bickering. "Have you even congratulated Ron on getting the position?"

At Harry's pop-eyed and stricken expression, Ron laughed. "No worries, mate. I knew you were happy for me."

Something of the old Harry seemed to surface then as he plopped down onto the path, heedless of the dirt, the bugs and the few sparks that were still smouldering in the overgrown grass. "I'm a great bloody prat, aren't I?"

"I'd say that about covers it," Ron agreed with a wide grin.

While Ron and Harry spiralled into ever more absurd descriptions of just what an idiot Harry was, Hermione sat silent, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she tried hard to believe that everything was back to normal now.

However, no matter how hard she tried to believe, there was no escaping the feeling of wrongness that still hung over the three of them. In fact, the whole wrongness of the scene sat like lead in her stomach. Harry had been more emotional and erratic over the last couple of years, and she granted him that right, especially with losing Sirius and knowing that he would have to face Voldemort, but what she was seeing now was something else. Harry swung too sharply between being the boy she remembered and being completely out-of-control. Seeing him like this, Hermione had to agree with Professor Snape's assessment, even if it hurt her to admit it. Harry was dangerously on edge, and as he was now, Voldemort would have no trouble destroying him.

A part of her urged her to act; to say something to Harry, to demand answers from him. Another part of her acknowledged that demanding answers now would be a very bad idea. In the midst of it all, she could almost hear Professor Snape's voice in her head. _Think, girl. Keep your mouth shut, your hand down, and THINK._ Sitting there on a broken bench in the Black family garden, Hermione resolved to do just that.

* * *

In the days that followed that afternoon in the garden, Hermione watched and listened. She also resisted the urge to run to the books and look up causes and treatments for mood swings. What she learned in those quiet days startled her. She'd always assumed that she knew her friends. She was quite surprised to find out just how wrong she'd been in her arrogant assumption that 'Hermione knew best.'

Hermione, she discovered, didn't know shite.

Bright and bold Ginny had become quiet and withdrawn, bordering on depression. Harry was still keeping the younger girl at arm's length, a treatment that isolated her since Ginny had to avoid both Ron and Hermione in order to avoid Harry.

With Arthur working long hours at the Ministry in order to hear the least bit of news and Molly fussing over a wildly emotional Harry while at the same time acting as unofficial Mother Hen to the Order members who came through the Black house, Ginny was left much to herself. Even the twins' sporadic visits weren't enough to pull the youngest Weasley from her isolation. And in everyone's focus on the escalating war with Voldemort and Harry, no one was noticing that Ginny was sleeping more and participating less in the daily goings-on at the house.

Ron, she discovered, was more aware than she'd ever given him credit for being -- a realisation that left her with a knot of shame sitting heavily in the pit of her stomach. Ron, it was now obvious, knew that something still wasn't right with Harry. In his own way, he was trying everything he could to deal with the situation by running interference between Harry and the rest of the rotating inhabitants of Grimmauld Place.

Hermione also realised that Ron liked her. That recognition was rather startling on her part. She'd felt something for him for the last couple of years. She knew she didn't always give the impression but she was girl enough to plan and dream and wonder about a relationship with Ron. She tried, in her own way, to let him know her interest without exposing herself too much. She had taken hope when he'd gotten jealous a few years back over her friendship with Victor, but Ron had never done anything about it.

Now when Ron was finally noticing her, she'd lost her enthusiasm sometime in this past year. She wasn't sure exactly when she'd given up on Ron, but her redheaded best friend no longer caught her attention. It was a realisation that left her feeling a little wistful but not really sad. She felt more resigned, really, that she was going to have to do something about his feelings now in the midst of dealing with Harry.

Harry, though was the most worrying of all. It wasn't that he was just on edge -- he was teetering dangerously on it. Things both small and large set him off into disproportionate flights of anger. Breaking a tie on his trainers sent him into an all-day long sulk. A burned piece of toast went flying through the air before disintegrating into blackened crumbs against the kitchen wall. A losing game of chess with Ron had seen the board and chess pieces flung around the room.

But nothing set him off like Snape. The professor didn't even have to be in the Black house to send Harry off into a rage and then an hour later it was as if nothing had happened and Harry was once again the young man she knew.

She was very much afraid of what this Jekyll-Hyde behaviour meant.

* * *

Severus knelt, bowing his head to his master. He held the position, using those long seconds to smooth out his emotions and wrap himself deeper into the armour of his Death Eater persona. Occlumency depended greatly on mental imagery and Severus settled into his chosen metaphor with practiced ease. The surface of his mind became a pool of cool, glass-smooth, black water. No fish swam there to break the still perfection. No grasses or trailing vines dipped below its surface. There was only the pond and the cloudless, twilight-coloured sky above.

_I am untouched._

Kneeling there he did not think about the pale, exposed line of his neck. He did not worry about whether this was the night when he would be revealed and meet his death. He did not give a thought to the Death Eaters who ringed his form.

_I am controlled. I think nothing. I feel nothing._

Held in that timeless moment between thought and action, he waited for his master's orders.

"Risse, Sseveruss."

Severus rose with an unconscious grace, his dark robes settling immaculately around him, causing Bellatrix to sneer her derision. She was careful, however, to make sure that Snape could not see the curl of her lip.

Meeting his master's gaze, Severus waited for his command. No ripples disturbed the image in his mind as he felt the Dark Lord's intrusion. His master called forth his memories, looking into the mirrored surface to see Snape's activities of the last few days, never realising that the smooth pool of Snape's mind was infinitely deeper, and hid more than he ever imagined. The creature that had once been Tom Riddle, saw only what Severus wanted to show reflected on that smooth, glass-like surface.

_Still and serene._

Such was his composure that nothing disturbed the surface of his calm, even as the darker depths of Severus's mind noted, remembered, and analyzed everything around him from his fellow Death Eaters standing at his back to the fact that his master was continuing to wear the glamours he'd used to meet with the faithful. _Or, was Voldemort so far along in his transformation back to human that he didn't need glamours anymore to appear mostly human?_

"I require your talentss. Come."

With a brief inclination of his head, Severus followed.

With polite civility, Voldemort gestured for Severus to walk with him through the hallways of the Riddle house. Severus noted the sure steps and confident bearing of the _man_ beside him and remembered a time long ago when he'd been young and idealistic _and naïve_. Voldemort was changing again. He was once more becoming that charismatic and powerful personality that had completely enthralled a good portion of the wizarding population before he'd been unmasked as the monster he truly was.

A tiny ripple disturbed the pond's surface. A human Lord Voldemort was infinitely more dangerous than a terrifying, snake-like Dark Lord. It was always easier to convince another of evil's presence when you could point to the creature in the dark.

Catching that dangerous train of thought before it could rise any further to the surface of his mind; Snape weighted it down and sank it deep into the cold waters of his mind. The implications of that would have to be studied at length in safer surroundings.

_I am composed._

Another set of doors led them into what once had been a grand music room, though the only instrument left was a dusty harp leaning haphazardly in one corner, half its strings either snapped or missing.

Early evening light seeped into the room through tattered, velvet curtains while a fire burning steadily in the black iron grate of the fireplace cast flickering shadows across the bloodied and beaten body of a man tied securely to a sturdy wood chair in the middle of the abandoned room.

Voldemort stepped past Severus into the room, causing McNair and Lestrange, who had been lounging on a somewhat lumpy chaise against the far wall, to jump to their feet in a semblance of attention.

Voldemort ignored them, instead gesturing to the bound man. Severus idly noted that even Voldemort's hands seemed more human, the skin less grey-tinged, though the firelight caught and shimmered faintly on scale-like patterns across his wrist.

"Thiss one thinkss to keep ssecretss from me." Voldemort trailed a talon-like nail down the man's face, the sharp edge making a shallow cut from which a bright bead of blood rose. The man never moved, though Severus could see that his eyes were open. Shock, he decided, probably caused by internal injuries and blood-loss.

Abandoning his façade of humanity, Voldemort licked delicately at the blood edging his nail, while fixing his eyes on Snape. The threat in the look and gesture were clear and didn't need to be voiced.

"Find me the information I ssseek," his master demanded.

Severus bowed in acknowledgement before walking closer to the man. He looked to be around fifty, early middle age for a wizard. Eyes glassy in shock stared at nothing. Whether the man truly saw nothing or some private horror that he alone could see, Severus did not know.

_I reflect only what others wish to see._

He studied the man dispassionately, noting the affects and remains of the curses by which he'd been hit. A slicing hex that had cut though his robes to the skin below had surely caused the long mark on the man's shoulder. Blood had already soaked the sleeve almost down to the wrist cuff. Burn marks could be seen decorating his legs through the shredded ruin of his robe while the mangled remains of one hand clearly showed the use of a sloppily-cast Bonebreaker Curse. Two smaller, messy cuts crossed his cheeks. It took Severus a moment to identify the runes carved into the flesh as those for Blood and Traitor.

He flicked his eyes over to the two other occupants of the room: McNair and Lestrange. Knife wounds, then. So they were not just guards for a prisoner but likely the ones who had brought him in.

_Had the man been alone? Had any oth-_

As the pond surface began to ripple, he ruthlessly cut off the thought.

_I feel nothing._

Once again, the pond returned to its glass-like perfection, the ripples smoothing out as they reached the pond's barren edge.

Returning his gaze once more to the prisoner, he let his eyes wander over the man. Beneath the blood and vomit and urine, the man's shredded robes had once been immaculately tailored and of the finest cloth. He had a soft, well-manicured look to him. Not an Auror, or Unspeakable, or someone who dealt with potentially threatening situations -- a Ministry employee then.

_I remain inviolate._

Severus ran his hand over the man's face, tilting it up into the light. He ignored the blood that stained his finger tips to raise one bruised and swollen eyelid to study the pupil of the blue eye revealed.

"Your analysisss, Sseveruss?"

A small part of Severus' mind noted that while Voldemort might be looking more human, some part of his reptilian heritage remained. The thought was no sooner born, than it too was submerged beneath the waters.

Couching his words with the proper deference, Severus continued his examination but spoke over his shoulder to his master. "He is unconscious and dying quickly. I'll need to revive him in order to question him. To facilitate my questioning, it would also be helpful to have the details of his stay with us."

Behind him he could him McNair and Lestrange snicker like two schoolchildren. He just caught the whispered words, "makes him sound like a bloody guest."

Ignoring them, he stepped back from the bloodied body. When he was no longer enveloped in the stench of impending death, Severus pulled a snow white handkerchief from within his robes, fastidiously wiping his fingers free from the blood that sullied them. He made a concerted effort to _not_ notice how Voldemort's eyes lingered on the cloth's spreading red stain.

Keeping his face as expressionless and as frozen as the pond, Severus tossed the tainted cloth into the fireplace, watching as the fabric turned first black and then was consumed by the flames.

_I can do nothing for him. I am untouched._

Voldemort chuckled, a wet sound that brought images of rot and decay. "Alwayss the professional, alwayss the perfectionisst. The fool wastess your talentss, my sson."

He just restrained his shiver of revulsion at hearing himself called 'son' by the creature in front of him. Instead, he inclined his head at the compliment and held his tongue. Others within the Circle fawned and simpered at Voldemort's feet. Severus never had, and while he'd paid for his pride on more than one occasion, it had also earned him a position within the Circle that granted him great power and influence.

"McNair, report to me." The command was softly voiced but in contrast to Severus' smooth movements, McNair nearly leapt across the room to do Voldemort's bidding.

Severus sneered his disdain as the Ministry executioner knelt at Voldemort's feet.

"Bingley Glossop, Under-Secretary to the Secretary in the Department of Records. Caught him looking through scrolls he had no business looking through."

Severus raised a brow in question.

"Glossop was looking for records of this house."

Severus let an icy wind blow through his mind, chilling the air that surrounding the pond. Cold seeped into his limbs as his body responded to the powerful imagery of his mind.

The pond's surface began to freeze, its edges turning white with crystalline frost beneath the onslaught of the winter chill in preparation for what was to come.

"Glossop was trying to find proof of existence in order to break the Fidelius on the house."

A flick of Voldemort's hand sent McNair scrambling up onto his feet and back to the other side of the room. "Yesss. One of Dumbledore'ss Order memberss." Voldemort chuckled again. "I do not think that thisss little phoenix chick will risse from the asshess. He hass proved most sssteadfast in his sssilence. Break him, my potionsss masster."

"I live to serve, my Lord."

Within his mind, the pond froze completely over.

* * *

Hermione's half-formed fears for Harry eventually led Hermione back to Snape. Catching the elusive spy was proving to be somewhat difficult, however. While those of the Order tended to come and go from the Black house fairly frequently, Professor Snape made few visits. When he did come, it was usually only for short meetings and often in the wee hours of the night.

But Dumbledore had called an emergency meeting earlier in the evening for a select group of Order members. Only Professors Dumbledore and Snape, Mad-Eye Moody, and Kingsley Shacklebolt had entered the study. When the door had clicked shut and powerful wards and Silencing charms had gone up, Hermione had known that whatever they were discussing was serious.

Ron and Harry had wandered off to bed shortly thereafter, when even Fred and George's new and improved Extendable Ears had yielding nothing but a sound like angry bees.

Hermione had stayed. Not for the reasons her two friends thought -- she certainly didn't house the same level of distrust for Professor Snape that they did -- but because she had to speak with Professor Snape. Realising that this might be her only chance, she'd waited in the shadowed gloom of the stairwell at Grimmauld Place, a somewhat threadbare quilt wrapped around her body, not so much for warmth but for comfort. She'd sat her perch for over an hour now and she was beginning to worry.

Her pressing need to talk with Professor Snape, however, didn't override the fact that it was boring to watch a closed door. She couldn't even indulge in reading while she waited for fear that Molly Weasley would see the light from her wand and send her off to bed. Or, the even more likely scenario, that she would get so involved in her reading that the meeting would break up and Professor Snape would walk right by her without her noticing.

Ron had commented more than once, quite truthfully Hermione ruefully admitted, that when she was deep in a book, a herd of Hippogriffs could walk by and she'd never notice. Shifting once again on the hard wooden steps, Hermione propped her head up on hand and continued staring at the door. She certainly had a new appreciation for Crookshanks and his sometimes hours-long vigils outside the mouse holes that dotted Hogwarts. The only thing that kept her attention from completely wandering off was that from her vantage point she could see shadows moving in the inch or so gap between the floor and the bottom of the door. It was like watching an odd sort of shadow play.

The rhythmic back and forth movement of one shadow made Hermione think that behind the oak panelled door, Severus Snape was pacing in a fine temper. She had no doubt that it was Snape, the shadow moved at too fluid a pace to be Moody and she'd never seen Shacklebolt indulge in the habit of pacing. As for her guess that he was in a temper -- she grinned in the darkness – well, that was easy enough. Severus Snape confined in a small room with Dumbledore, Shacklebolt and Moody. _How could he not be in a temper?_

Her guess seemed to be borne out when the pacing shadow was blocked by another and then a flash of pale lavender light flared brightly from under the door. Hermione stiffened in alarm as a second later, something, or someone, hit the wall on the other side with enough force to rattle the two pictures hanging in the hallway.

Half-standing, half-couching in tense anticipation, Hermione let the quilt slide to her feet as she waited for another flash of light. Her unease was heightened by the fact that the shadowed drama beneath the door played out eerie silence. She needed to get in there. She needed . . . _she needed to do what?_ an acerbic part of her asked.

Sinking back down onto the stair tread, with a grimace of annoyance, she pulled the dropped quilt back up over her knees. _What did I think I was going to do? Rush in to the rescue like some American Hollywood cowboy?_ Hermione snorted softly in self-mockery. She didn't even know if the hex had been aimed at her professor. Professor Snape could very easily have been doing the hexing.

Bending forward, she thumped her head down onto her knees. Ron was right. She was barmy. There was no other explanation for it. Which begged the question: after what she'd just seen, did she really want to brave Professor Snape's temper tonight? While giving that some serious thought, her choice was taken from her as the door at the end of the hallway opened.

Considering the individuals who'd been in the room, Hermione wasn't surprised at the anger on Kingsley Shacklebolt's face. She was somewhat unsettled though by the expression of smug satisfaction on Moody's face as he left the room, his wooden leg thumping solidly against the floor as he took the turn that would lead him down to the kitchen.

It was several more minutes before Snape and Dumbledore emerged from the room. Professor Snape's expression was positively thunderous as he exited at Dumbledore's side. From her shadowed vantage, she caught the tail end of their conversation.

"It's not working, Albus. They are too few and spread too thin as it is. Glossop should have been under protection. He was taken in broad daylight from his home."

Hermione could hear the frustration in her teacher's voice.

In contrast, the Headmaster's voice was both sorrowful and resigned. "It is all we have, Severus."

The two men continued further down the hallway until they stood directly beneath her perch. "Albus . . ."

"I am sorry, Severus. But until a better option is found, I can do nothing."

"Then you will not share the names?"

The Headmaster sighed. "I cannot, Severus." At Snape's scowl, Albus held up a wrinkled, age-spotted hand. "NOT," he emphasised, "because I believe Moody's claim that you want the names just so you can turn them over to Tom to increase your own standing. I have other promises, Severus, and I can not break my silence."

Pulling out a crumpled-looking piece of cloth from a robe pocket, Albus snapped his wrist and extended the tall, pointed wizard's hat. Setting it at angle that only could be held up by magic, he smiled gently at the still scowling Snape. "Go home, Severus. Sleep." He paused and then added softly, "If you can."

When Snape hesitated, Albus added firmly. "Good night, Severus." Then without missing a beat, he added, "And good night to you, Miss Granger."

Hermione shot to her feet at the Headmaster's words and looked down over the banister into two pairs of eyes. One set was somewhat mischievous, the other pair glittered at her angrily from the shadows of the hallway.

_Wonderful._ She'd been caught eavesdropping.

Dumbledore was still smiling pleasantly, as if catching eavesdroppers was all a bit of fun for him. Then again, he'd been Headmaster at Hogwarts so long that it probably was considered sport to him to catch wayward students listening in on things they shouldn't.

Of course, if he knew what other conversations she'd overheard in the past year, he might not be smiling quite so benignly.

Throwing a traveling cloak over his robes, Dumbledore sent an amused smile in Snape's direction. "I think I'll leave Miss Granger in your capable hands, Severus. Goodnight."

Hermione winced at Dumbledore's amused words as she caught the quick series of emotions that flashed across Snape's face. She was surprised to catch both mortification and resignation before he schooled his face back into the neutral scowl he customarily wore.

She realised then, in flash of insight, that Professor Snape, for all he seemed to genuinely care for Professor Dumbledore, really did not enjoy the Headmaster's habitual teasing.

Pondering that thought, Hermione bowed to the inevitable and went down the stairs, stopping as she reached the last step. She didn't step completely down though, but stayed standing on that last step so that she met her professor on an equal height. It was strange looking directly into his face rather than up at him and caused a funny, swooping feeling in the pit of her stomach, a feeling that was quickly replaced by guilt as she got her first good look at Professor Snape.

The kindest comment she could make about him was that he looked horrible. Blood-shot eyes were sunk deep into their sockets and his skin had gone beyond sallow and had acquired a greenish tinge that made her feel queasy just in sympathy.

It had only been a few days since he'd delivered their grades with McGonagall. The man had seemed rather tired on that day, but he'd looked normal enough. What could have happened to make such a dramatic change?

She shivered suddenly, cold for some odd reason. If she didn't know better, she'd almost think the sudden chill in the air was emanating from the dark man standing silently in front of her.

_Now is definitely not the time for my questions_, she decided.

"My apologies, sir. You obviously –" she was about to say 'look exhausted,' but changed it at the last minute thinking that her prickly professor probably wouldn't appreciate any comments on his appearance – "are very busy this evening. My questions can wait."

Half turning to make a quick getaway, she gave him what she hoped was a respectful, but still friendly smile. "Good night, sir."

"Be still, girl."

Something in his voice recalled her to that morning outside of the library and Hermione became very still, forcing herself to meet the black ice of her professor's eyes.

Another shiver ran through her and goose-bumps pebbled her skin. She suddenly wished she'd kept hold of the quilt that now rested a few steps above her.

"Are you cold, Miss Granger?" The words were whispered.

Hermione nodded and slowly moved her arms up to wrap around her middle. With slow movements she rubbed along arms. "Sorry, sir," she said, just as softly. "I seem to be cold all of a sudden, as if I was standing next to a ghost."

Professor Snape jerked at her words and stepped back away from her, pulling his robes around him. "Perhaps you are correct, Miss Granger," he said in a more normal tone of voice. "This is a talk that is better left for the morning."

Spinning on his heel, he was gone out the front door in a swirl of black before Hermione could even form a cohesive answer.

Hermione, heart pounding, stared at the front door in confusion as warmth started seeping back into her body.

* * *

Miranda Vector blinked sleep from her eyes as the sound of tinkling windchimes filled her bedroom. With a heavy heart, she climbed from her warm bed, pulling on an old dressing gown as she rose. With a wave of her wand, the sound of chimes vanished.

She'd always liked the sound of chimes, and they'd become her own personal alarm. The sound of these particular chimes, though, gave her no comfort.

Not bothering with lighting the candles, Miranda set off through her moon-lit cottage, her steps sure in the half-light. She'd lived in this little cottage for almost fifteen years and knew her way by heart.

Entering the small kitchen, she sighed softly as cool tiles chilled her feet after the warmth of the old wood floors in the rest of the house. With another complex wave of her wand and a low-voiced password, a warded and hidden door next to the pantry opened on silent hinges.

From the depths below, Miranda could see splashes of jewel-like colour reflect against the cottage's long forgotten cellar walls. Floating up the stairs, the delicate sound of chimes could be heard.

The chimes had seen set to alert her at any change in the Arithmatic equations that seemed to fill both her waking and sleeping hours. Descending the last couple of steps, she focused on the spinning conglomeration of coloured lines that represented the probabilities of fate and time and people. It took her only a moment to find the change she'd been expecting.

The line representing Hermione Granger had fully intersected the line of the Order's spy. The unknown rogue line had also made a forward jump, its path aimed directly at the point where Granger met the spy. Soon, very soon, she predicted, it would intersect that nexus point.

Miranda was already turning away, going over in her mind what she needed to tell Albus, when she saw it.

"Merciful Morgana," she breathed, unable to believe what she was seeing.

Taking a few steps forward, Miranda reached out and traced her own line. Hers had always been on the outside, its path circumnavigating the others that made up the pattern. She had only ever crossed the Headmaster's erratic and swirling line. That was no longer the case. Her own line had taken a sharp turn, bending around the line of Hermione Granger, as if the girl's equation was affecting her own, the probabilities and possibilities warping and morphing with each decision the Gryffindor made.

Miranda Vector was now on a collision course with Granger and the ever mysterious Order spy.

* * *

**_Author Note_**: JKR on her site, just recently put out new Easter eggs. One of them contained a handwritten piece of paper about all the professors and their names. On it, Vector's first name was Septima. However, since other things on that piece of paper were changed before the publication of the book, it can't be taken for absolute canon. Also, I named Miranda before JKR came out publicly with her name. So, I'm keeping Vector's name as Miranda. 


	17. Ch 17 Questions and Answers

**Chapter 17: Questions and Answers**

Just as dawn started to lighten up the skies, Miranda Vector found herself outside a cosyy little cottage situated on the rugged Orkney coast.

Blooming heather and pinks dotted an awe-inspiring landscape that surrounded the quaint stone building which hugged the top of the bluff. They were given only a passing glance in her haste to reach the building. She did notice, with more attention, the sheer drop off on the windward side of the cottage, but only because she'd Apparated a little to close the edge for comfort.

Struggling with her windswept robes, she started up the path to the main door, cursing Albus, cliffs and Scotland while contemplating throwing Albus _off _certain cliffs in Scotland. Just as she reached the front door it opened, revealing Albus attired in a purple dressing robe, with a pair of fuzzy chartreuse socks peaking out from beneath the hem.

He looked cheerfully wide awake, which she considered almost a personal affront, considering the hour. No one should be that happy all the time, especially at Albus' age.

Looking a little puzzled at finding her on the doorstep of his summer retreat, Albus nevertheless gave her a wide smile. "Come in, Miranda," he offered, holding the door wide.

The inside of the house was as Miranda had imagined it. She would have known this place belonged to Albus, even without the wizard in question standing in the middle of the little sitting room. The room looked like an expanded, and even more cluttered, version of his office at Hogwarts. As for the colour scheme . . . somewhere in Knockturn Alley, a whorehouse was missing it drapes and furnishings.

She never doubted that Albus Dumbledore was one of the most powerful and brilliant wizards alive, but when confronted with some of his more noticeable eccentricities, her first thought was always, _Merlin, help us. This is the man who is going to save us from You-Know-Who._ This time was no exception.

Albus brought her out of her wandering thoughts. "What's the matter, Miranda? I'm guessing that your appearance here means a breakthrough of some kind in your research?"

Wishing she had a piece of chalk to fiddle with, she settled down onto an overstuffed, deep gold settee. "It's happening, Albus. Granger's line of probability has crossed with your spy's."

Albus settled himself back into his chair, his face concerned but unsurprised. "We knew that was inevitable, my dear. Every permutation you ran suggested Miss Granger and my spy would meet. Something else must be troubling you to have brought you here."

"Troubled isn't the word, Albus. Scared comes closest to my feelings at the moment. The equations started mutating again late last night -- woke me from a sound sleep. I spent most of what was left of the night tracking back the source of the changes along the temporal axis. Miss Granger's sphere of influence on the probability lines of others is . . . well, _unique_ is the only word that comes to mind."

"Miss Granger has, since her first year, had considerable influence on the behaviour of both Harry and Mr. Weasley. That her influence remains even now does not surprise me. But something must have changed to bring you here?"

"Several things, actually. Granger and your spy aren't just meeting. They are somehow connected; their lines are almost intertwined. Whatever it is they are doing is directly relevant to the final confrontation with You-Know-Who. The rogue silver line is still involved; its influence on the matrix still an unknown. However, even when my projections concentrate on it alone, I still can't tell what its end result will be. Right now, I'll give you a fifty-fifty chance that whomever, or whatever, the silver line represented will either kill or not kill your spy.

At Albus' frown, she added. "It's the best I can give you."

Hunching forward, Miranda cast her eyes down to the colourful rug at her feet. "There is something else." With her eyes downcast, Miranda couldn't see Albus but could hear the rustle of his dressing gown as he shifted in his chair. "I'm not a fighter, Albus." She chuckled, the sound more ironic than mirthful. "I flunked Defense, remember? The only reason I passed Charms was because poor Filius worked constantly with me." She shook her head at the memory and added, "He has the gift of patience."

She finally brought her eyes back up to meet those of the Headmaster. "As for Potions" – a small smile curved her lips – "it's probably a good thing that I was a couple of years ahead of Severus and he never had to teach me."

"Miranda, I have never asked you to be a combatant in this fight. Your talents have always lain elsewhere. Arithmancers of your skill level are exceedingly rare in the wizarding world. While those of us with magic grasp the fantastic with ease, logic has always been much harder for us to comprehend. It works much the opposite way for many Muggles when it comes to magic. You have an enviable talent, dear girl, to see arithmantic patterns as they form. Your knowledge, and its value to us, is why I have kept you out of the heart of the Order, but I have never doubted your courage or your convictions."

"That's just it, Albus." She gave him a somewhat lopsided smile. "I don't think I can be kept out anymore. My pattern shifted. I'm no longer on the sidelines but right in the middle of things."

"Harry?" he asked, alarmed.

"No," she sighed. "Not Harry's nexus point but the one being made by your spy, Granger, and eventually the rogue."

* * *

Hermione ground the heel of her palm into her right eye socket, trying to rub the sleep from her weary eyes. What little sleep she'd gotten the night before had not come easily. A little after dawn, she'd finally given up on her tossing and turning. Sliding out of bed as quietly as she could so as to not disturb Ginny, she'd headed downstairs, being just as quiet on the stairs so as not to disturb the snoring portrait of Mrs. Black. Standing half-awake in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place in her dressing gown and slippers, she was beginning to wonder if all her associations with Professor Snape would leave her sleep-deprived.

She hadn't even had the comfort of lying in her own four-poster bed at Hogwarts. Instead, she'd been confined to the narrow, lumpy, somewhat musty-smelling bed that was officially hers at Grimmauld Place. It just hadn't felt right to contemplate the mystery that was Severus Snape, outside of official S.N.O.R.T. headquarters. _And the fact that that thought makes perfect sense to me is proof that I need a morning cup of tea or two._ She finally opened both eyes to the cramped and somewhat dismal-looking kitchen with its water stained ceiling and peeling paint. _Better make that three cups_. It was definitely going to be a caffeine kind of day.

Ignoring the wand her in dressing gown pocket, she puttered around the small kitchen, pulling out the making for tea and searching out eggs and several pieces of non-mouldy bread that could be made into a decent breakfast of eggs and toast.

Plopping down into the one kitchen chair that didn't wobble, Hermione's thoughts circled back around to Snape while waiting for the water to boil. Like most of her encounters with Snape, last night's meeting had left her with more questions than answers. She had no idea what to make of his behaviour. But considering the hour in which the meeting had been called, along with the emotions that had swirled around the people involved, Hermione suspected that Snape had come to the meeting directly from meeting with Voldemort. He'd had that tightly-controlled, touch-me-and-I'll-snap feeling to him that Hermione was coming to suspect had something to do with his meetings with Voldemort.

_And what had Snape said just as they were leaving the study_? _Something about someone named Glosser or Gossip or something, being taken in broad daylight_. She shook her head. It would come back to her as soon as she'd had her first cup.

Seeing that her water was coming to a boil, Hermione got up to fix her eggs and toast. A few minutes later she let out a startled yelp, barely managing to hold onto her cup and plate, as she turned to find Professor Snape standing in the kitchen doorway, his arms crossed forbiddingly across his chest.

"If I were an enemy, you would be dead."

Setting her plate down on the table before she dropped it, she gave her dour professor a somewhat exasperated frown. "Then it is a good thing that you are not my enemy."

His response was a raised brow that made her want to throw something at him. She had the distinct impression that he was trying, once again, to wind her up. However, it wasn't going to work. It was way too early, and she was way too tired. She'd work on getting riled later, after eggs and tea.

When she failed to rise to the bait he offered, he instead settled himself onto one of the kitchen chairs. Hermione had the sudden revelation that she could implement one of S.N.O.R.T.'s other objectives. With that thought in mind, she set about making another quick breakfast, lightly toasting two more pieces of bread and making an egg white scramble. The toast was dry and the scramble plain. It was one of the few things she'd noticed him eating over the last couple of months.

Setting the second plate in front of Snape, she braced herself for the protest that she knew he would make.

"I did not request breakfast, Miss Granger."

Taking her own seat, she picked up her knife to begin buttering her toast and tried very hard to pretend that seeing him eat wasn't vitally important to her. "No, sir. But I was fixing breakfast anyway and seeing how that it is so early, I thought you might like something as well." She gave what she hoped was a indifferent shrug. "You don't have to eat it, sir."

She cast her own gaze back down to her plate, hoping that he'd eat if she wasn't watching him. _Please. Please. Please. Come on, eat something. You know you want to. Come on_.

She was rewarded a few seconds later with the soft clink of silverware. It took everything she had to celebrate that small victory in a suitably Slytherin fashion, with only a quick quirk of her lips, rather than in the more Gryffindor manner. She didn't think dancing around the room would gain her any points with her prickly professor.

She couldn't help herself, though, from sneaking looks across the table at him. He was eating slowly, as if testing each bite before he swallowed. She did note that he looked better than he had the night before, but he was still tired and pale. She had a sneaky suspicion that his alertness was more potion-induced than brought on by a good night's sleep. If only he'd taken Rink with him to wherever it was he went during the summers.

Wrapped up in 'if onlys,' she forgot the number one rule of Snape-watching: Never stare too long.

"Is there a reason you are staring at me, Miss Granger?"

_Shite! I mean damn. No. Darn. Bloody hell!. When did I lose control of my inner swearing? Bad habit. And Snape is still waiting on an answer_.

"I - I wasn't . . ." She stumbled over her words before giving them up as a lost cause. Floundering around, she went with the first thing that popped into her head, something she'd pondered over but never actually thought she'd ever voice. "I didn't mean to stare. I was trying to understand you – to understand why you are really doing this."

Snape was wearing a peculiar expression; not exactly smiling, but not exactly frowning either. He looked rather amused. Oddly enough, she couldn't decide whether to be mortified because he was laughing at her, or pleased that she could entertain this taciturn man, even at the expense of her own embarrassment. She finally settled on pleased.

"True knowledge exists in knowing that you know nothing."

She frowned slightly and then ventured, "Aristotle?"

"Tsk, tsk, Miss Granger," he mocked. "Socrates."

"You see," and even she could hear the whine in her voice, "you . . ." She trailed off, then tried again. "You are the most confusing man." She waved a hand between the two of them. "I don't understand _this_ and I'd like to know why."

He studied her a moment, one forefinger tracing along his bottom lip. Finally dropping his hand, he sat back in his chair. In that moment, it didn't matter that they were sitting in the somewhat gloomy basement kitchen at Grimmauld Place. With a simple motion, Snape commanded the room and Hermione felt as if she were once again sitting in Snape's office.

"Tell me, Miss Granger, what are my feelings in regard to you?"

That answer was easy enough, she thought. "You hate me."

To her surprise he immediately disagreed. "Wrong. Try again."

Three little words and the entire framework on which she'd based her relationship and interactions with Professor Snape collapsed beneath her. Her belief in his hatred was what made his agreement to teach her so confusing. She'd known how to handle his hate and scorn. She'd created mechanisms to deal with him. If he didn't hate her, then . . .

"But –"

"No buts. Again, I ask you, what are my feelings in regard to you?"

Now thoroughly confused, she tried again, attempting to match up what she knew with the way he'd treated her and her friends the last six years. "You dislike me."

A self-satisfied smirk grew on his face. "Wrong again. Really, Miss Granger, is this the vaunted intellect that your other professors exclaim over?" He shook his head in exasperation.

"I annoy you," she blurted you.

The smirk changed to that quirk of his upper lip that looked like a sneer but was actually his smile and she knew she'd gotten the answer right this time.

"Correct. And I must say that you annoyed me since your first day of my classes when you practically levitated out of your chair in your bid to garner my attention."

She flushed in embarrassment. "I was . . ."

"Twelve." He waved one hand in dismissal. "Yes, I know. It does not change the fact that you did annoy me then and it took you years to stop annoying me. The difference between then and now is that you seem to have learned. Something, I might add, that I did not think you capable of doing. Within the last year I have seen you stop talking and begin to listen. You no longer seek to dominate class time but instead have become content to give answers when appropriate. You have stopped desperately trying to get attention by displaying your _vast intellect_ in your essays. Most of all, Miss Granger, you have stopped helping your fellow students in my class, and have instead shifted your attentions to outside of class, where they belong."

Hermione didn't know quite how to react. That was quite possibly the nicest thing Professor Snape had ever said. His next words, however, reaffirmed the fact that Snape didn't give out free compliments.

"Now, before you let that bit of praise swell your head to unmanageable proportions, let me also say that you still have much to learn. And so we come to the crux of the matter -- I am doing this because I see potential in you, Miss Granger. Because you have demonstrated that you are capable of maturity. And ultimately, Miss Granger, I am doing this because you asked." He gave a long-suffering sigh. "Llisten closely. I will say these things to you once. If you do not agree with my assessment, do not argue with me. Prove to me that I am wrong. Do you understand?"

Not sure she trusted her voice, she nodded.

"I do not hate you. Then again, I cannot say that like you either, for I do not know you. I can tell you that the student, Hermione Granger, who graced my classroom for the previous six years, had been both an annoyance and a trial. That _child_ was a willful, insufferable, arrogant attention-seeker."

Hermione blinked rapidly in reaction to those words. Professor Snape continued, as if he did not see her distressed reaction. "That _child_ was also loyal, studious, hardworking and meticulous."

And with those words Hermione found herself blinking rapidly for an entirely different reason.

"Within the last year, I have seen that annoying child grow into a reserved young woman. One who thinks before she speaks, one who is learning to think for herself instead of parroting back the words of others, be they words from a person or a book. That said, Miss Granger, I find you much more tolerable now."

"Tolerable?" she repeated, finally finding her voice.

He nodded.

"You find me tolerable?"

And just like that she was back to being angry with him. Oh, how fortunate for her that she'd finally risen to status of tolerable! Heaven forbid that she still be wallowing in the ranks of 'trial' and 'annoyance'. She'd only been twelve years old. She was allowed to change and mature and . . . and . . . .

Then she caught it, that small half quirk. He knew exactly what she was thinking. Probably knew it without having to use Legilmency on her. Damn the man! He'd done it to her again.

Pinching her lips together in a remarkable imitation of Professor McGonagall, Hermione picked up her tea and took a calming sip. With extremely precise motions, she put it back down into the saucer. Only then did she, in turn, quirk a small smile at her professor. "I can live with tolerable. At least I now know that your opinions can be changed and that I have the rare opportunity to improve myself in your eyes."

Professor Snape mirrored her move and took a sip of his own tea. "A valiant effort, on which I commend you, but Gryffindors rarely have the wit for sarcasm."

She let her smile grow a bit wider. _This, indeed, was what Dumbledore found so amusing when dealing with Professor Snape._ "Perhaps, then, sir" – very careful to add in the 'sir' – "Potions will not be the only thing you teach me Seventh year."

He did not comment but turned back to his own breakfast, and they continued on in a fairly comfortable silence. Hermione was actually rather glad, for it allowed her a few minutes to gather her thoughts. Now that food and caffeine had time to kick in, more questions were starting to come to her mind. When her professor had said that they would continue their talk in the morning, she hadn't really expected him this early in the morning. Brow furrowed in sudden thought, she wondered how he'd known she was awake. Had that just been a coincidence? Had he planned on waking her if she hadn't been awake?

"You are vibrating in your chair, girl. Ask your question before your head explodes." The words were rather blunt and almost harsh, but there was no malice in his tone, just his usual impatience.

"How did you know I was up at his hour?"

As both of his brows rose, Hermione realised that Snape had not been anticipating that particular question. She was rather surprised when he answered rather than berating her for asking stupid questions.

"I did not know."

She suppressed a growl of frustration when he stopped his explanation there rather than explaining further. "You are going to turn everything into a lesson, aren't you?"

"Critical thinking, Miss Granger, is not a party trick. It is a way of thinking and analysing that should involve everything you do. It is not always easy and you will frequently come to the wrong conclusions, but the better questions you ask, the better conclusions you draw. So, I have stated I did not know you were awake, yet here I am. Why would I come to this house at this hour?"

Feeling like she was taking an exam and had forgotten to study, Hermione paused to think about what she knew of Snape and the other occasions when he'd been at Grimmauld Place. "The only times you ever come here are for Order meetings or if you have to meet someone," she finally said.

He gave a small inclination of head and she had to fight back a sigh of frustration. This would go so much faster if he'd just tell her the answer.

"So what facts do you know?" he asked.

"That you only come here on Order business," she stated again.

Snape scowled, giving Hermione the distinct impression that he was disappointed with her.

"Must I spoon feed you, girl? Is my belief that you actually have a brain misguided?"

Before she could even begin to defend herself, he snapped out, "Did I realise you were awake?"

When she hesitated, his scowl deepened into the familiar thundercloud of scorn he usually wore when dealing with Neville. Seeing that expression she hastily stuttered out, "N-no."

Snape continued firing questions at her. "At what times do I normally attend this _place_?"

Hermione thought quickly to the times she'd seen Snape in the house. "Early mornings and late at night."

"Hogwarts is not in session; shouldn't I be able to come and go freely?"

She opened her mouth to respond and then stopped as her mind finally wove the separate answers together into a whole picture. "Oh!" In that moment she realised exactly why this man was Dumbledore's spy and what made him so dangerous – he had the ability to see the small pieces that others missed and put them together into the larger picture.

Snape had stopped his barrage of questions and was now watching her closely. She began slowly, feeling out her theory as she spoke. "While Hogwarts is in session," she began, "Vold- . . . the Dark Lord wouldn't call on you often. You are _his_ spy in Hogwarts and it would not do to arouse the Headmaster's suspicions. _He_ would only request your presence for big things . . . and," she swallowed hard, "and failures."

She paused then to gauge her audience's reaction, but Snape's expression was closed, his eyes showing nothing of his thoughts. But he didn't stop her, so she continued on, her words coming faster now as the ideas coalesced. "Term provides you with security and . . . anonymity. But it's summer now. You are free to," she hesitated before ploughing on with her thought, "to be at _his_ side, to attend _him_ more. _He_ would demand it."

Continuing to spin out the most probable scenario, she dropped her eyes from her professor's, no longer able to meet his gaze. "The Dark Lord . . . you . . . you've been away from him. Out of his sphere of influence and control. His trust in you would be low. He'd want assurances. He'd want you to . . . to do things to prove yourself and he's probably watching you."

Then she finally got back to the answer to her original question. "You didn't know I was awake at this hour and would have had someone wake me. You are being watched or monitored, and early mornings and late at night are the times you can get away."

Once again she remembered Snape's chilling presence from the night before. She'd been right. He had been with Voldemort before meeting with Professor Dumbledore and the others.

"Very good, Miss Granger. And that brings us to the here and now. You wished to speak with me last night. Ask your real questions."

"It's Harry."

Snape, she noticed, went rigid in his seat, his expression suddenly closed off. Seeing that suddenly blank gaze, she realised just how open he'd been with her earlier.

"Of course it is," he sneered. "It's always Potter."

"I'm serious, sir," she said quietly. "There is something wrong with Harry. You don't spend a lot of time here at Grimmauld Place so you wouldn't notice, but Harry is behaving oddly, with often violent mood swings that can't be explained."

"If you were to ask the Headmaster, he would tell you that Potter has a right to his outbursts. That he is a young man coping with a difficult situation the best he knows how. That he should be given every leeway, consideration and exception in order for him to come to terms with what we are asking him to do."

Hermione winced at the bitter undercurrent in Snape's voice. Harry would always be a sore subject with this man, and she wasn't exactly sure how to bring up her suspicions without doing more damage. She leaned forward across the table, locking her gaze on Snape's face. "Please, sir. I know you don't care for Harry. But I do think you know that he's important in this fight. There is something going on. I think it's been going on for a while actually, but Harry has kept it better hidden at school, where there are more distractions."

Her professor slumped forward, his eyes closed. Then abruptly he straightened though his head tilted down so that that curtains of black hair that framed his face swung down, hiding his eyes from her. She rather thought that this was what Sisyphus would look like confronting his boulder. Something inside of her hurt to know that she was about to add to his burden, but if what she suspected was true, he really was the only one she could talk to.

"You have a hypothesis; one that you felt needed to be brought to me, rather than the Headmaster. Out with it, Miss Granger."

"I – " she began, then stumbled to a halt as she looked for the words she needed. Drawing a complete blank, she rocked backwards in her chair while throwing her hands in frustration. "I don't know for sure. Truthfully, I don't even know if I should be telling you. This feels like I'm betraying Harry. And I know that he'd feel like I've betrayed him. I don't . . . I just . . ." She ground to a halt again.

"What are you telling me, Miss Granger?"

Taking a deep breath, she spit out the words in a rush. "I think Harry is dabbling in the Dark Arts." There, she'd said it, said it out loud and in front of someone else.

Her professor went absolutely still. She wasn't even sure he was still breathing. Very slowly his bowed head tilted up and she was swept up in the unrelenting tempest of his gaze. "You believe Potter," he began, his voice slow and measured, "is experimenting with Dark Magic." It was said more as a statement, not a question.

Hermione nodded miserably. "Because of his mood swings and temper." She shrugged one shoulder. "There are other signs, some more physical than others." She didn't mention that she thought Harry's new moods and temper were eerily reminiscent of Professor Snape's, a correlation that had helped set her down this path.

Without a word or a wand, Snape sent the teacup in front of him flying to smash into the far wall. Hermione jumped as shards of porcelain and drops of tepid tea rained down around them.

That wasn't exactly the reaction she was expecting.

Snape was on his feet a second later, his eyes wild with rage. "The little fool! Everyone who has sacrificed and died for his worthless, arrogant . . ."

Okay, that was the reaction she'd expected. She lost what he was saying after the word arrogant as he'd switched from English into some kind of harsh, guttural sounding language.

He'd begun pacing around the kitchen, dragon-hide boots crunching over the remains of the shattered tea cup until no _Reparo_ would ever put it back together again.

She didn't know if it was because of the Affinity she shared with him or because in his rage his control over his own magic was slipping, but either way, she could _feel_ his magic building and spiking along with the foreign-sounding words.

Worried about what he would do in his anger, she got up from her chair. "Please, stop." Professor Snape didn't seem to either see or hear her, as he stepped neatly around her. The beat of magic swelled against her senses. Would the others in the house be able to feel it? Now really wasn't the time when Harry or Ron needed to be showing up in the kitchen. Her growing fear spiked when Professor Snape snapped his wrist, his wand sliding down from a hidden sheath into his hand. Tossing caution to the wind, she stepped forward and grabbed his wand arm, throwing her weight into him.

She was actually rather surprised when he stopped. Cautiously she stepped away from him but kept her hand upon his arm where it rested against the black of his robes, the contrast startling in its distinction. When he was fully focused on her hand, she uncurled her fingers with deliberately slowness and then brought her fist up to rest against her chest.

It had been a guess on her part that the unexpectedness of her touch would bring him out of his temper, something she'd noted Ron doing with Harry lately. She could see that it had been a good guess. The unreasoning rage she'd seen in Snape's face was gone, although his anger was still readily apparent.

"The Headmaster must be told immediately," he growled, his voice low and still containing a harshness from something of that other language though he was speaking English.

Resisting the urge to take his arm again, she pleaded, "Please don't."

He stared at her, eyes narrowed. "Don't, Miss Granger? If your suspicions are correct, Potter has endangered himself, the Order . . . everything."

Feeling as if she had one shot at this thing, she put everything she had into convincing him. "Try to understand, Professor, Harry is only doing what he thinks he needs to do in order to save the wizarding world. Harry knows that it will come down to him and Volde- um, to him and the Dark Lord."

"Spare me the wide-eyed entreaty." He took a step back from her, opening the space between them. "So the Headmaster finally told Potter the prophecy -- about bloody time."

At her startled expression, Snape gave her an amused snort. "Yes, I know about the prophecy. And as for what Potter thinks? That's the problem, Miss Granger. Potter doesn't think at all. For if he did, the boy would realise the consequences of this idiocy. Dabbling in Dark magic is exactly the sort of thing that…."

Hermione dared to interrupt. "But perhaps Harry can handle it, Professor. He has the makings of a great wizard and maybe he won't lose control the way that others have."

Snape laughed then, the sound rusty and decidedly unamused. "And perhaps one day you, and everyone else, will quit looking at the boy as if he could do no wrong!"

"Professor, I fully realise that Harry has limitations."

"Limitations?" he scoffed. "Dark magic isn't just about learning that you have limitations, it's about knowing where your limitations are. It's about knowing yourself, Miss Granger. It's about knowing every weakness you have and every place you fall short. It's about understanding the darkness within yourself. _Great wizards,_" he snarled, his face contorted into a mask of disgust, "are great because they understand that they can't control the darkness no matter what, and they never fall to the temptation. Potter is no great wizard and never will be."

"Then he should have been told!" she cried.

"Told! He wasn't told the prophecy precisely because we wanted to protect him. Has Potter told you why he is sent back to the Dursleys every year?"

Her confusion must have been shown on her face, for he answered his own question.

"Old magics, Granger. Potter is sent back because of the sacrifice made by Lily Potter to protect her ungrateful spawn from the Dark Lord. Lily, to this day, still protects Potter. At every opportunity the Headmaster has given Potter knowledge and chances and praise, whether or not he has in truth earned it. He is given gifts which are squandered and spit upon, because in his arrogance he sees nothing beyond the end of his nose."

Snape's voice was growing louder and Hermione was getting the feeling that she had stumbled into old wounds and that Professor Snape was no longer talking about just Harry. Feeling a bit subdued by Professor Snape's vehemence, she asked softly, "Is there any way that Harry can use Dark magic safely?"

Professor Snape sighed, his voice dropping. "There is no simple answer to that question." He rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "There are those, Miss Granger, who will tell you that magic is neither black nor white, but that it is the intent of the caster that makes the difference. To a certain extent, it is even true. That is the precept that allows schools such as Durmstrang to continue to teach the theory of the Dark Arts. Dark magic, however, is Dark for its very susceptibility. It seduces, Miss Granger. Most of those who have walked that path did not set out to become monsters. They dabbled. They took small steps and had ample justification for each one. They meant no harm. Their intentions were good in that they sought justice or craved knowledge . . . they had plans." He stopped then and let out another soft sigh. "The problem with Dark magic is that it changes you. To be arrogant enough to believe that you are immune or that you can successfully play with fire without getting burned is what ultimately brings you down. Those who successfully work with theories of Dark magic do so with care, foreknowledge, and with the utmost respect."

"Harry –"

"Has no respect for anything beyond his own selfish desires."

Hermione bristled at that comment. "That's unfair, sir, and untrue. He's doing this to protect everyone. He sees it as his only choice."

"The Headmaster will tell you that life is full of choices, Miss Granger. There is never only one." Snape shook his head. "Return to your seat Miss Granger and tell me everything from the beginning and leave nothing out." He fixed her with a stern eye, as he added, "And I mean everything."

* * *

**End Chapter 17**

**Author's Notes:**

**If you have sent me feedback for chapter 16 and you didn't get a response, I'm terribly sorry. Ch 16 was a complete wash for me and I think I answered only about a dozen emails total. I promise to do better from now on.**

**I really disliked this chapter. It is so not my best work and at this point I've given up on trying to make it better. I've said it before and I'll say it again – I hate having to write conversations between characters. I suck at it. Unfortunately there are more conversations in the next chapter. Bleh!**

**For those of you of the American persuasion --- Happy Fourth of July.**


	18. Ch 18 More Questions and More Answers

Hello Readers!!

Okay, I know that it has been forever since an update. Several of you (and you know who you are) have been kind enough to point that out to me once or twice or three times. Well, okay, four times. :-)

This chapter was supposed to be longer. It is longer. But, in the interest of making those of you who have waited for five long months happy, you have a mini chapter to tide you over. I hope it helps until I can get the rest of the chapter up.

-Caeria

(The ever slow and plodding writer)

**Chapter 18 – More Questions and More Answers**

Severus watched Granger cross the kitchen to her chair. The crunch of porcelain pulled his gaze down to the scuffed floor. He frowned slightly, before realisation hit him, bringing with it a shamed heat that suffused his cheeks as memory returned. Mortified at his loss of control – temper and magic-wise – he tilted his head, allowing his hair to slide forward, hiding his face from the girl's notoriously sharp gaze. It was bad enough that she'd been witness to his loss of control. She did not also need to see his mortification.

For all that he tended to sneer at Gryffindors and their rampant emotionalism, he knew that he had his own weaknesses. That his temper had led him to lose control of himself like that was inexcusable. He hadn't had an uncontrolled burst of wandless magic like that since the Headmaster had told him that Lupin was taking the Defence position. At least then, he'd maintained control until he'd returned to his rooms. That he'd lost control now in such circumstances and before the girl was inexcusable. With his almost daily interaction with the Dark Lord, he could not afford a single slip. More than his own life rested on his ability to keep his temper and his secrets.

Pulling out his wand, he made a broad sweeping gesture and cleaned up the mess he'd made. Maybe it was time that he asked Albus for whatever potion or spell the old manipulator had used before to put him to sleep. It was obvious that Severus was losing his edge.

Feeling a dull throb begin behind his eyes, he resigned himself to this new responsibility the girl had laid at his feet. Part of him revelled in the trust that was implied in her actions. She'd come to him with her concerns; not Molly Weasley, not the Headmaster nor even Lupin. Another part of him wished that she had gone to one of the others. He resisted the urge to heave a melodramatic sigh. Before he could rest, the girl had to be dealt with.

The girl. Hermione Granger. He might as well get used to referring to her by name. She was, and by his own choice, tied to him now by the bonds of mentor and student. Referring to her as 'the girl' as if she were simply one more of the brainless idiots he dealt with on a daily basis would be doing her a disservice. For a moment he was reminded of that year he'd returned to Hogwarts. He'd been just as eager to prove himself to Albus. He could still remember the day the old man had first called him Snape, rather than the more formal Mr Snape.

He eyed the girl sitting there expectantly, hair in sleep-tousled disarray and still in her night clothes, yet her eyes were open and trusting and waiting for him. _Merlin, help me_. But to deal with Potter he'd need her trust and her assistance before it went pear-shaped and they all ended up dead. It was, of course, a calculated gamble – a decidedly Slytherin approach that would have Albus chiding him for his use of tactical manoeuvering in the realm of human relationships – but extending the girl the courtesy of familiarity would help him in the long run.

His course decided; he moved to take his own. "Now, Granger, I believe you were about to tell me everything."

He hid his smirk as her eyes widened slightly at the use of her surname alone. He was rather pleased that she recognised the import of that. He did not, however, hid his smirk as she registered what he was asking of her, as her wide-eyed look changed and her face drained of colour. He needed no Legilimency to track the thoughts that raced across her expressive face. _Gryffindors_ he thought with derision.

"Calm yourself, Granger. I could care less for your secrets and school girl fantasies. You many confine your answers to those that deal with Potter."

The quick flash of indignation followed by relief that crossed her face confirmed his suspicions. _Children are always so sure that others are interested in their little lives and secrets. As if a seventeen year old girl had secrets that I'd be interested in_.

"Tell me of Potter."

"I –"

A loud series of thumps on the ceiling interrupted her. The thumps were followed by a hideous shriek reminiscent of nails on a chalkboard that could only have been the portrait of Mrs Black. Severus' first thought was filled with black humour. _Can I never get a break? Do the Fates despise me that much?_ But even before the sounds from above died, he was on his feet.

"The others in the house will be up and moving now. And as I would rather not suffer the _false hospitality_ of your compatriots, we will continue this discussion at a more opportune time."

Granger had also risen to her feet, again looking at him as if he held the answers to her every question. _Merlin,_ _was I ever that young or trusting?_ She made him feel old and tired, which contributed to his waspish tone. "I trust that you can keep your suspicions to yourself until we can meet again?"

"Of course, sir."

Again he got that quick flash of indignation as she answered, but her own tone was still exceedingly polite and respectful. He almost smiled at that. She was definitely learning. Even just a few months prior, she'd have been incensed and fuming at his remarks and attitude.

Hearing more movement and noise upstairs, he gave her a small nod of his head and left her in the kitchen. He'd await Kinglsey and Lupin in the parlour. Perhaps there he'd have enough time to clear his own still-roiling emotions before returning to the Dark Lord's side.

* * *

Though she kept an eye out for him, Hermione didn't see Professor Snape for the rest of the morning. Several Order members were seen coming and going from the front parlour of the house though, and their presence drew the attention of both Ron and Harry. Extendable Ears had been employed, but the privacy shields on the room were impregnable. Hermione had no doubt they'd been cast by Professor Snape.

Lunchtime, with still no sight of her professor, brought the realisation that Snape was long gone from Grimmauld Place, returning to do whatever it was he did for Voldemort during the long summer months. That thought left her with a feeling of disquiet that left her pensive and silent for the remainder of the day.

Unwilling to inflict her mood on the others in the house, she retreated to the library where she'd found a fascinating book on properties of magical creatures. There she stayed until a shout and a clatter from the hall outside announced what could only be Tonks' evening visit.

Hermione suspected that Tonks' continuing visits had to do with a certain werewolf, although, being treated to Mrs Weasley's home cooking wasn't something that Tonks, or anyone else, turned a nose up at.

Tonks was also the official post carrier for those who were ensconced behind the protective wards of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. She arrived with an arm full of letters, parcels, bags of food for Mrs Weasley and several papers including the _Daily Prophet_, _The Quibbler_, _Witch Weekly _and the _London Times. _Mr Weasley used the enforced captivity of Hermione and Harry to his advantage in getting them to explain things in the Muggle paper. The _Times_ also served to give everyone an idea of how the Muggles were explaining the deaths and property damage that was being wrought by the increasingly-frequent Death Eater attacks.

So book in hand, Hermione leapt from her chair and headed for the hall, throwing dignity and decorum to the wind in the race to get post. Rounding the corner of the library into the hall, she skidded slightly as her stockinged feet slid on the floor, which had been perfectly polished by Molly Weasley.

From the floor above she could hear the pounding feet of the boys as they led the charge down the stairs. As the old house had a tendency to echo, it wasn't long before Mrs Black woke from her painted slumber: "MUDBLOOD FILTH! Blood Traitors! Filthy mongrels desecrating my house and dishonouring the Black family name!"

Two seconds after Mrs Black started up her usual litany of curses and insults, Molly Weasley added her own considerable volume to the cacophony. "Ronald Bilus Weasley! Harry James Potter! What have I told you two about setting off that horrid portrait?"

In the midst of it all stood a rather chagrined-looking Tonks, a broken vase at her feet and arms stuffed full of parcels, letters and parchment rolls.

Seeing the boys round the last landing of the staircase, Hermione put on an extra burst of speed, using her momentum to slide across the smooth boards of the hallway until she was nose-to-nose with Tonks.

Ron's shouted, "No fair!" echoed around the place as Hermione successfully blocked Ron's grab with a sharp elbow as he jumped the last few stairs to land next to Tonks.

In the mad scramble to get the day's latest news, Hermione grabbed the first paper in sight, grinning as she came away with the _Daily Prophet_. A few days earlier, she'd ended up with the latest edition of _Witch Weekly_ and had been utterly bored until Mr Weasley had given over the _Prophet_.

Letting out a rather unladylike whoop of victory, Hermione retreated to a safer distance from the others as they circled around Tonks. A few minutes later the chaos was sorted out to everyone's satisfaction except Ron's.

"Why do I always end up with _Witch Weekly_?" It was a sign of just how starved everyone was for news from outside the Black house that Ron wasn't giving up his tight grip on the magazine, even as the picture of the blonde witch on the cover kept making shooing gestures at the places where his fingers dug into her picture.

Remus clapped a hand onto Ron's shoulder. "Luck of the draw, Ron."

Ron shot a mock-glare in Hermione's direction. "My luck would have been better if _someone_ didn't have such sharp elbows."

Hermione smiled prettily and batted her lashes at Ron, which earned her a snort from Harry and a laugh from Tonks.

Clapping her hands together to get everyone's attention, Molly did what she was best at and got the group moving again. "Tonks, can you see if you can quiet the old harridan down? Remus, if you would be so kind as to help me get the groceries down into the kitchen. Ron, Hermione, Harry – dinner will be ready at half past so do your reading now."

With that, everyone retreated to wherever and whatever they were doing before Tonks' timely arrival – mail, parcels and reading material firmly in tow.

Retreating back to her favourite chair by the fireplace in the library, Hermione snapped open the paper only to be confronted with a blazing headline that blinked off and on in alarming, bold type. The story was dominated by a picture of a modest wizarding home with the Dark Mark hovering like oily smoke in a cloudless, blue sky.

**MINISTRY OFFICIAL TAKEN BY DEATH EATERS**

_Terror strikes at the heart of the Ministry when Bingley Glossop, Under-Secretary to the Secretary of Wizarding Records was abducted from his home yesterday afternoon. Mrs Glossop, long a gardener of rare plants, was found dead at the Glossop's home where she'd been partially eaten by her famed Fanged Geraniums. Aurors on the scene confirmed Mrs Glossop had been dead before being fed to the flowers._

_Mr. Glossop's whereabouts are unknown, but he is also believed to be dead._

_The reasons for this latest attack by You-Know-Who's Death Eaters are unknown. However, this reporter has some serious questions for the Ministry: What is being done to protect the wizarding population of Britain? What kind of protection does the average citizen have if even Ministry officials are targets? And finally, how could this have happened in broad daylight? Where are our Aurors in this time of crisis?_

_Story continued on page six_

Glossop. That had been the name Professor Snape and the Headmaster had been discussing. Glossop, who was likely dead. Glossop, who undoubtedly had been an Order member, or at least one of the network of Order supporters – those people who passed along bits and pieces of information that allowed the Order to make decisions.

_What else had they said that night? _ Hermione wracked her brain. She'd really been more focussed on Snape and her own anxiety about speaking with him than about the overheard conversation. _What had Snape said? _Biting down hard on her lip, she recreated the scene in her mind trying to force the memory back up. _I was nervous and bored and tired and . . . Professors Snape and Dumbledore had come out of the room . . . Professor Snape didn't look happy and he was arguing with the Headmaster about . . . ._

Protection!

She sat up abruptly in her chair as the memory returned. They had been talking about protection. Professor Snape had said that Glossop needed protection. The Headmaster had argued that they didn't have enough people – Order members or Aurors – to provide protection to everyone who was a potential target.

A chill, much like the one she'd gotten from Professor Snape, raced down her spine causing goosebumps to prick across her skin. The professor had said that Glossop _had_ needed protection. Past tense.

Her eyes tracked back up to the news article and with a feeling of dread she confirmed the date of the Glossop's deaths. It had been the same day she'd spoken with Snape. He'd been there. Maybe he'd even killed Glossop and his wife. Tears welled up in her eyes. Blinking furiously, she willed them to stop, although several fat drops still fell across the paper in her lap.

Was she crying for the Glossops, two more victims of Voldemort's insanity, or was she crying for Professor Snape and what he'd done?

She shivered again. This was the type of man she was associating herself with. Did she really want that? This was the man who she was trusting to help Harry.

She eyed the Dark Mark spread across the front of the paper. Snape was dangerous and deadly. Yet, remembering the bleakness in his eyes that night, what Snape he did obviously affected him.

Reaching up, she rubbed her arms to bring back the warmth. She had some thinking to do and the irony of that thought definitely wasn't lost on her.

* * *

In the end, Hermione simply reaffirmed her decision to continue working with Professor Snape. It wasn't as if she hadn't known he'd cast Unforgivables. She had, but knowing, and being confronted with the evidence had shaken her a bit and once again she'd had to re-evaluate the rather simple framework of her assumptions regarding her professor.

The more she discovered about him, the more interested she became. That he was sarcastic and rude with little patience for those around him was but a surface layer and a rather thin one at that. That he was a hard and dangerous man was also quite obvious. In truth, he both fascinated and scared her. She had to wonder if the Headmaster really appreciated the fact that Professor Snape willingly submitted to his commands and direction.

Once or twice, she even wondered what it would be like to be a person to whom Severus Snape feely gave his loyalty.

And so her thoughts continued to circle around Snape, thoughts made all the more dire by the constant reports of more Muggle and wizarding deaths and by Snape's continued absence from Grimmauld Place.

Maintaining her new regimen of keeping her mouth shut and her eyes and ears open proved to the most effective way to determine what the other Order members knew about what was going on in the wider world. Occasionally, she would hear snippets that mentioned Snape, but nothing that eased her mind. She used the Extendable Ears with the boys but the Order was on to them and all meetings were warded against their prying. She had on one occasion sat with Harry at the top of the stairs while an Order meeting was being conducted in the library, but again they had learned nothing useful and Harry had been quiet and withdrawn.

She'd discovered, quite by accident that she didn't really even have to be sneaky about the whole process of listening in to other peoples conversations. If she was sitting in a chair with her eyes cast downward to a book in her lap, the adult members of the Order talked rather freely in front of her, secure in their assumptions that she was so engrossed in the written word that she was insensate to the world around her.

Sitting now in the shabby library with her feet tucked up and an oversized, musty tome in her lap, she fought the urge to smirk like Malfoy at his smarmiest as she eavesdropped while Moody and Tonks discussed the growing safety issues of the Order. Making sure she continued to flip pages at regular intervals, she couldn't help but wonder if this was how Professor Snape got a lot of his information. It was quite easy to imagine her professor sitting quietly, gleaning information.

He'd be sitting in some seedy wizarding bar. Smoke would hang thickly in the air and shadows would cling to the far corners and low ceiling. The only lights would be the occasionally flickering candle on a tabletop that would fight a seemingly losing battle with the darkness. A few questionable patrons, with cloak hoods up around their faces, would be sitting at tables stained black from centuries of grime and spilled drinks.

The professor would be dressed in his usual black attire but he would be wearing the more elegantly cut travel cloak she'd seen him wear when not in his teaching robes. He wouldn't have his hood up. He'd be bareheaded, his hair sliding forward to brush against the curve of his cheek and hiding his eyes from the others in the room.

Getting lost in the fantasy she was building in her head, Hermione let her eyes close to better concentrate on the images she was creating. On the table in front of him, she decided, in the pool of light cast by his candle, he'd have a thick book -- something old, but not too rare that it would be risked in the dirt and grime of the bar. A glass of Firewhisky would rest on the table in front of him, just in front of the book. She wanted to make it heavy cut crystal, but decided that this type of bar would have chipped glass tumblers instead.

He'd be concentrating on his book, or so the others would think. They'd whisper and natter to each other. Boast about things they shouldn't, and tell each other they weren't afraid of the man sitting quietly reading his book against a back wall. And all the while, her professor would be listening and remembering.

And after a while when he didn't do anything more threatening than reading, one brave – or perhaps foolhardy – drunk seated against the far wall would get up out of his chair fuelled by liquid courage and the goading of his mates. He weave his way through the shadows until he stood in front of her professor, and Snape – eyes still closed, Hermione's lips curved up in slight smile – Snape wouldn't say a word. He'd simply look up and give _That Look_. The one that made Ravenclaws bury their heads back in their books, that set Hufflepuffs to crying, made brave Gryffindors tremble and that the Slytherins all tried to imitate with more or less laughable results.

Then would come the sneer, and-

"Hey, Hermione. You awake over there?"

Hermione opened her eyes with a start, reflexively grabbing at the book on her lap as it started to slide.

"Didn't mean to startle you," Tonks said, grinning good-naturedly at her as she held out a letter with a Muggle postmark. "I just wanted to give this to you. I'd forgotten that I'd stuffed it down in my coat pocket earlier and you didn't get it during the usual melee for the post." Tonks shook her head in obvious bemusement. "I have a whole new respect for the Owls. They deserve every treat their little hearts desire."

Seeing her mother's neat handwriting, Hermione took the letter with a murmured "Thanks." Curious as to what her mother had to say, Hermione tore open one end of the envelope and let the letter within slide out into her palm.

_Dearest Hermione,_

_I'm sending this to the Weasleys in the hopes that it will find its way to you. They at least have a proper post address. You know, it really may be time to invest in an Owl of our own. Goodness knows what we'd tell the neighbours, or nosy Mr Peterson down the street, but it would be so much easier to get in contact with you. Especially since I suspect that once you graduate, you'll be spending more of your time in the magic world. But I digress._

_Your father and I are doing well. In fact, we're going to be attending a dental conference in Strasbourg next week. Your father is quite looking forward to it._

Hermione grinned as she read through her mother's letter. She was rather glad and a bit relieved that her parents would be out of England for a while, especially with Voldemort's escalation of violence. She'd never told her parents about the things that she and Harry and Ron had done. Now, after so much time and so many secrets she didn't know how to tell them. But if they were leaving the country, that would be one less worry off her mind.

She'd have to remember to tell Tonks or Moody that they could take the Auror detail off her parents while they were away. That would at least free up some people to help watch over other potential targets. Mental note made, she returned to her mother's letter.

_But, darling, that's not the reason I'm writing to you. This letter concerns your short friend with the overly large ears. I won't mention his name since you hinted before that he could get into a bit of trouble for his, shall we say, extracurricular activities. I know that you thought that once you left the house that he would return to his own home permanently. That has not been the case. And while I can't say that I'm upset at having fresh strawberry scones ready for me in the mornings, I really don't wish him to have any difficulties._

_In fact, we had a nice chat the other evening. _

Hermione chuckled softly. The mental image of her mother and Rink sitting down for tea and a chat was an amusing one.

_Did you know that I can call him as you can, even though I'm Muggle? Your friend says he just has to be actively listening for me. Not that I completely understood the explanation he gave, for I have no idea ho one actively listens for someone that is several hundred miles away. Not to mention he tends to ramble a bit. He reminds me a bit of your Great Uncle Dennis. Actually, now that I think about it, Dennis had some extremely large ears and a rather obsessive habit of picking up after your Great Aunt Dorethea._

_But, now I'm starting to ramble. I just wanted you to be aware of the situation, just in case it caused any problems. _

_Do let me know you are well. There are some strange and horrible happenings occurring in England this summer. I worry about you._

_Mum_

* * *

End Chapter 18.

There should be more coming. And once again, thanks to everyone and your more or less endless patience with my slow writing.

-C


	19. Ch 19: Really Just Ch 18B

**Author's Notes #1**: I've only heard back from one beta on this so far but I'm an impatient sort so I'm going to go ahead and put it up. Once the second betas sends in her changes, I'll update corrections. In the meantime, if you eagle-eyed readers spot an mistake, feel free to let me know. You won't be hurting my feelings. Thanks to Keladry for the smashing beta job.

**Author's Note #1.5**: The first time I uploaded this I was missing a scene divider that was causing some issues. So, if some of you get notification of "New Chapter" it's just that I fixed that divider.

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* * *

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**Chapter 19: Really Just Chapter 18b**

**WARNING!!** Gratuitous house-elf scenes ahead. You have been warned.

* * *

In hindsight, Hermione rather thought she should have anticipated it. Truthfully, it had been building for a long while, and with Harry's increasing hair-trigger temper, she should have seen it coming, especially since she'd seen the picture in the _Prophet_ first. But she hadn't thought ahead, hadn't foreseen the consequences. Had Professor Snape been there, it most certainly would have earned her a scornful comment and severe glare for her lack of _thinking_.

But she didn't think about the paper when the others drifted in the study for the second part of the evening's mail ritual. She had been thinking about what the _Times_ would report and if they would mention the Dark Mark that had hung over the outskirts of London. She had not been thinking about the connections and how others would view the _Prophet_'s news, so instead of thinking ahead, she had simply handed her paper over to Harry and taken his copy of the _Times_.

She really _should_ have expected what happened next.

The _Daily Prophet_ was flung violently across the room, sections of the paper fluttering to the floor from the toss.

"That's it!" Harry announced.

Everyone else in the room stopped what they were doing, their own papers or magazines forgotten in the face of Harry pronouncement.

"Harry . . . ."

"No, Ron," Harry interrupted angrily. "I'm tired of this." He strode across the room and picked up one of the scattered pages, holding it up for the others in the room to see. The Dark Mark stared back at them, held aloft in Harry's clenched fist. "People are dying and we sit cooped up in this house, doing nothing. I'm tired of sitting. I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of Voldemort killing people, while we sit around and read the evening papers and play games."

Harry stalked over to where Moody and Lupin were sitting at a small gaming table. "I'm done with being quiet and doing as I'm told. I'm tired of things being kept from me. I'm tired of being lied to and –"

"No one here has lied to you, Harry," Dumbledore said, his voice quiet and grave in direct contrast to Harry's loud, strident tones. "In fact, no one here has done anything except try to protect you."

The sudden appearance of the headmaster in the doorway caused several people in the room to jump in surprise. The headmaster's sudden and conveniently-timed appearance made Hermione wonder about the flicker of movement she caught in one of the Black ancestral portraits. Old Phineus Nigellus might have tipped off Dumbledore to the brewing storm that was Harry.

Hermione exchanged a look with Ron. At Ron's wide-eyed expression, she knew that he felt it too. _Something_ was about to happen. Keeping her focus on the two people in the middle of the room, Hermione carefully put the book in her lap on the floor.

The others obviously felt it as well, since both Moody and Lupin pulled away from the table and turned their chairs to face to the middle of the room. Tonks had moved to stand slightly behind Lupin's chair. Arthur didn't move from his seat on the threadbare couch, although Molly stood up, her hands clasped nervously together.

"Protect me?" Harry raged. "How has any of what you've done protected me? How has it helped? It's going to come down to either me killing Voldemort or being killed by him and we both know it?"

"Harry!" Dumbledore said, his warning plain to hear.

"No!" Harry shouted, his cheeks turning a splotchy red with anger. He swept his hand out, indicating Hermione and Ron in one sweep. "They know. I told them about the prophecy."

Across the room, Moody let a snort, while his magical eye tracked back and forth between Dumbledore and Harry. "So it isn't just some kind of fixation because you defeated him before," he said with a sort of pleased satisfaction. "I always knew there had to be some other reason he was targeting you. So what's the prophecy say, boy?"

When neither Dumbledore nor Harry spoke, Moody let out another amused snort. "Cat isn't going back into this bag, Albus."

Molly chose that moment to interrupt the tableau. "Well," she said false cheer in her voice, "it sounds like Harry and Dumbledore need to have a talk. Ginny, dear, why don't you come help me in the kitchen?"

"No."

Ginny simple refusal obviously shocked her mother. Molly's mouth fell open and she gaped like a rather unattractive fish for several seconds before her face flushed almost as red as Harry's had been earlier.

"Ginevra Weasley-"

"No, I'm not leaving." Ginny's expression was hard and closed off, her eyes bright with anger. "I'm not leaving this discussion. I've a right to be here and hear what is going on just as much as Harry or the others do."

"You are just a child, Ginny," her father said, trying to soothe her.

Hermione winced as the words came out. It was definitely the wrong thing to say, especially since in her opinion, Ginny was handling her obvious anger in a much more mature fashion than Harry had.

"Child?" Ginny shot back. "I haven't been a child since _Tom_ -- she spat the name out like curse – was in my head." Ginny shook her head. "You have no idea of the hate and vileness that he . . . ."

Ginny stopped and took a trembling breath, regaining her faltering composure. "I can help. I've been telling you all along that I can help but no one seems to listen to me. You and Mum and the rest of the family act like I'm a little girl still, and Mr-I'm-The-Only-One-Who-Can-Save-The-Wizarding-World,-Woe-Is-Me can't see beyond the end of his own wand to realize that there might be other people around that know what he's going through and know what it's like to have that _creature_ crawling around in your head. I'm not leaving."

Surprisingly, it was Dumbledore who rose to Ginny's defense. "She is right, Molly. Ginevra is no longer a child. All of her family is involved in this fight, and as such, she has much to lose."

The old wizard caught Harry's gaze. "You wish to be treated as an adult in this war?"

When Harry gave a stiff nod, Dumbledore said, "Very well." He paused as he looked around the room and then continued. "Miss Granger? Mr. Weasley? Miss Weasley? You are all united in this decision?"

Hermione dropped her gaze as the headmaster's eyes lingered on her own, but she answered in the affirmative, as did Ron and Ginny.

"Then as adults you will be treated. As of this moment, you are to be considered full members of the Order of the Phoenix." Dumbledore raised one wrinkled hand. "That does not change your status though. You will remain protected within this house and behind wards, for you are all targets."

Dumbledore turned back to Harry. "Since, Harry, you have seen fit to share the knowledge of the prophecy with your friends, perhaps you would like to share it now with the others?"

There was an undercurrent of steel in the headmaster's voice that was not to be disobeyed. Once again, Hermione was reminded that this seemingly frail old man was a powerful wizard who had already defeated one self-titled Dark Lord. She also got the distinct impression that he was not pleased with the evening's turn of events.

Harry obviously heard it too. Though he flushed a bit under the headmaster's uncompromising blue gaze, he nevertheless raised his chin up high and spoke the words of Sybill Trelawney's prophecy aloud to the room. "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not."

Here Harry faltered a bit before he took a breath and said the last lines. "And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies."

* * *

Dinner that night at number twelve, Grimmauld Place after Harry's announcement of the prophecy was unlike its usual raucous affair. On most nights there was noise and occasional bursts of laughter, especially if Fred and George were there for dinner.

Tonight, there was no laughter, and a weary kind of silence had fallen over most of those sitting around the table. Hermione was listening half-heartedly to a conversion that Ginny was having with Tonks about being an Auror. She was still having trouble believing the events of the evening.

Being a full-fledged Order member wasn't exactly what she'd thought it would be. She'd been expecting more somehow -- a ceremony or maybe a magical oath-taking of some kind. She'd really not been expecting, after Harry had finished speaking, for Dumbledore, to just start talking in a low quiet voice.

She glanced at Harry sitting across the table from her. She had no doubt that Dumbledore had not told them everything. Truthfully, she wasn't sure she wanted to know everything, especially if what she suspected about Professor Snape was true. But she had to wonder if Harry thought that he was now in the know about everything. Did he realize that like any good general waging a war against an enemy, soldiers only got "need-to-know" information? For she had very little doubt that they _were_ all soldiers, each and every one of them.

Maybe that was something else she could discuss with Professor Snape when he came back. She refused to even consider the possibility that Professor Snape might not come back.

Deliberately, she turned her thoughts back to the conversation between Ginny and Tonks.

"So how are the Aurors protecting the Order members now?" Ginny asked.

"Rotating basis, mostly," Tonks replied. "It doesn't work all that well sometimes," she added with a grimace. "There are simply too many people and places that can be targets. We can't be everywhere. It's really a shame that there is no way for the folks in trouble to send out a Floo call or an owl. There just isn't a way for them to call for any kind of help that can get there in time."

In that moment, thoughts of her mother's letter still on her mind, a very Muggle-ish lightbulb went off in Hermione's mind. "Elves." The word was out of Hermione's mouth before her brain could tell her to pipe down.

Any hopes that she'd been drowned out by the low conversations going around the kitchen table, was dashed as she found seven expectant faces staring back at her with varying degrees of interest. Hermione forced a smile at her audience.

"How's freeing the house-elves going to help?" Ron asked.

Hermione closed her eyes tight as she summoned patience. She was never going to get away from her S.P.E.W. association. Opening her eyes, she fixed Ron with her best Professor Granger-Snape, "pay attention, dunderhead" stare. She was rather pleased when Ron, consciously or not, straightened up in his chair.

"I'm not talking about freeing the house-elves, Ron. But the house-elves have skills that might be able to help us."

Laughter and sounds of varying degrees of skepticism met her statement. Harry went so far as to snort in disbelief. "Because providing a feast at this time would be so helpful."

Hermione swung her glare over to Harry. Just because she knew why he was becoming such a prat, didn't mean she had to put up with his attitude.

"What are you thinking, my dear?" Dumbledore asked, derailing her before she could come back with a proper retort for Harry's rudeness.

The headmaster's interest stopped the others as well, although Moody still looked like he thought she was completely daft.

Hermione sat up straight in her chair and, out of habit, tucked her fingers under her legs to keep her hands down. "I was with Professor Vector one day this past year. She wanted a cup of tea." _And it definitely wasn't any of their business why Vector wanted a something to drink._ "At the time, she called out a house-elf's name, and one appeared."

Everyone else at the table was still looking at Hermione in confusion, but the headmaster lit up in a way that Hermione hadn't seen in a long while, his eyes sparkling with true excitement. "Brilliant, my dear. Absolutely brilliant. Right under our noses, and we all missed it entirely."

Tonks leaned over and stage-whispered to Remus, "Are you as lost as I am?"

Dumbledore chuckled and nodded at Hermione. "I will explain, with Miss Granger's permission."

Hermione quickly gave her consent.

"The house-elves," Dumbledore began, "do not use the same type of magic that human wizards do. In fact, much of how the elves do their magic is as mysterious today as when the house-elves first joined with various wizarding families. But one of their abilities that Hogwarts professors most make the most use of is the ability of a house-elf to listen for a person to call their name. A call, I might add, that is well outside the range of what any house-elf should be able to hear."

Moody, for the first time in the conversation, looked interested. "They don't have to be physically there?" he ground out.

"No. They would have the ability to go to an individual or family being attacked, and Apparate out with them."

"Why don't they just Apparate away themselves?" Ron asked. As they'd learned Apparation just this past year, Ron had become rather fond of the trick and grumbled to everyone who'd listen that he was losing valuable practice time while being cooped up in the Black house.

"Anti-Apparation wards," Moody answered, while picking his teeth with what looked like a chicken bone from that evening's dinner.

Hermione wrinkled her nose in disgust. Famed Auror the man might be, but he was both crude and abrasive. That, coupled with his overt and often-times vocal distrust of Professor Snape, left Hermione with little respect for Alastor Moody.

It was Harry who answered this time, the import of the conversation pulling him out of his sulk. His interactions with Dobby over the last couple of years had given him the answer. "Anti-Apparation wards don't work on house-elves. Remember, the elves move all over Hogwarts, and have no problems."

Remus brought them all back down to earth with his question. "But will the Hogwarts house-elves agree to help? Albus, you have more interaction with them and know them best, but even I know they are very peculiar about houses and families and who they serve. Will they be willing to still be Hogwarts' house-elves, while listening out for our folks at risk?"

Dumbledore stood, brushing at the crumbs that still clung to his beard and robes. "Even I don't know everything about the house-elves. I have always thought that their subservience was not always what it seemed to be and they have their reasons for much of what they do that wizardkind has never understood. However, I think that it may be time to talk to the Matriarch of the Hogwarts elves and see if she will help us in this regard.

_Aha!_, thought Hermione, _so Lonny is female_.

* * *

Swimming through dark and murky dreams, Hermione resisted the insistent shaking that persisted in pulling her from her sleep.

She couldn't, however, ignore the whispered voice of Molly Weasley directly in her ear. "Hermione, dear, wake up!"

Surrendering to the inevitable, Hermione finally opened her eyes to a night-robed Mrs Weasley kneeling by her beside, a single candle bobbing at her right shoulder. The rest of the room was pitch-black, as was the view of the sky outside the bedroom's one window.

As her brain finally caught up with her surroundings, fear flooded through her, burning away the last traces of sleep. "Is everyone okay? Are we being attacked? What's wrong?"

Mrs Weasley laid a calming hand on her shoulder. "Shhhh, slow down," she whispered. "Everyone is fine. Everything is fine. The headmaster has returned, and he needs to speak with you."

Lingering adrenaline made her voice sharp, as Hermione stared in a bit of disbelief at the older woman. "He wants to talk to me now?"

Again Mrs Weasley shushed her, while throwing a concerned look over her shoulder at the still-sleeping Ginny.

"Dumbledore will explain. Just get dressed and come downstairs."

More puzzled now that worried, Hermione yawned out a somewhat garbled "Okay" and threw back the covers. Molly, long accustomed to the habits of teenagers, lingered a few moments longer to make sure Hermione didn't fall back asleep. But as Hermione got up from the bed, Molly headed for the door, motioning with her wand at the candle, making it stay behind, so Hermione didn't have to dress in the dark.

Keeping her curiosity in check, Hermione made her way down the stairs. At the bottom, she hesitated, unsure of where she was supposed to go until she caught the gleam of candlelight coming from under the parlor door.

She knew she'd chosen correctly when she opened the door to find Dumbledore talking softly with a worried-looking Mrs Weasley.

"Come in, Hermione," the headmaster called, gesturing her into the room.

Still unsure of why the headmaster needed her, especially in the middle of the night, Hermione took a seat and did her best to hold her tongue, certain that Dumbledore would tell her what she needed to know soon enough.

He didn't disappoint.

"I have, Miss Granger, just come from Hogwarts, where I had a discussion with the Hogwarts House Line Matriarch, a house-elf named Lonny."

Hermione sat up straighter in her chair. If the headmaster had mentioned her to Lonny and Lonny had mentioned their deal, then she could be in trouble. Dumbledore's next words did nothing to ease her mind.

"What do you know about the house-elves, Miss Granger?"

"Not a lot, sir." _Which is more or less true._

"Not surprising. For few nowadays know a lot about them. They may seem to be simple creatures, but they are more powerful than many either understand or acknowledge." He gave her a serious look over the top of his spectacles. "Something that should not be forgotten when dealing with them."

"Yes, sir," she answered, unsure of how she should answer or exactly how much she should answer.

"Before Lonny will agree to this plan to use the house-elves, she has requested to speak with you."

Hermione's earlier panic roared back full force. "Me, s-sir?" she stuttered, tongue tripping over her words.

Dumbledore chuckled. "No need to worry, my dear. Lonny isn't dangerous; she simply wished to speak with the one who came up with the plan. But, while not dangerous, I wanted you to understand the seriousness and the honor that you are about to participate in. Very few people outside of the Head and Deputy Head of Hogwarts have ever met the Hogwarts' Matriarch."

Professor Dumbledore gave her what Hermione was sure he thought was a calming and friendly smile before he continued.

"When I mentioned your name, Lonny seemed to know you." Dumbledore chuckled again. "My guess is that it is in conjunction with your efforts with S.P.E.W."

That startled a response from her. "You know about S.P.E.W.?" Two seconds later she could have kicked herself. Of course, he knew about S.P.E.W.; the listening devices would have taken care of that.

"Yes, I knew about your S.P.E.W. campaign. Since Lonny has asked to speak with you, I suspect that she will ask that in exchange for the house-elves help that you will have to lay S.P.E.W. to rest."

Dumbledore was looking at her with a mixture of seriousness and some sympathy. "Hermione, I realize your nature is to be a champion for those you feel have no one to stand for them, but the house-elves offer us the best hope of saving our people from Tom's attacks. If Lonny asks, will you give up S.P.E.W?"

"Of course, sir," she answered, swallowing the knowledge that S.P.E.W. was long-dead anyway, and whatever Lonny wanted from her wasn't related to house-elf liberation.

But the headmaster seemed oblivious to her racing thoughts as he clapped his hands together lightly. "Excellent, my dear." Standing, he held out a hand to her, which she took. "Then let us be off. I understand you passed your Apparition Exam?"

"Yes, sir."

Leading them both down the hallway and out the front door, he continued, "Good, good. Then I'll let you Apparate yourself to the gates of Hogwarts. The practice will do you good."

* * *

Ron exchanged another glance with Harry before turning back to the main source of his anxiety. He really hated this. He liked his world to be orderly and neat, like his chess games. You made a move, Life made an opposite move, and depending on which piece Life chose to move against you, you could know how that piece would affect things.

People, like the chess pieces, had their own patterns of movement. Once he realized what those patterns were, he could always expect them to act accordingly.

He didn't like when things didn't work the way they were supposed to. Harry was bad enough. Harry had always been a bishop in the chessboard that played out in Ron's head. Harry was straightforward and consistent. You could count on him to charge into the heart of any adventure – or danger – full steam ahead and be willing to risk himself right along side of you. Ron _liked_ that about Harry.

Or, more accurately, he used to like that about Harry.

Lately, Harry hadn't been Harry. Ron wasn't sure exactly why, but he knew it had to do with Voldemort – and even thinking the wizard's name gave Ron the willies – but Harry wasn't acting like a bishop anymore. Harry flip-flopped between being the Harry that Ron knew and understood, and being something that Ron had no pattern of behavior for. If anything, Ron would say that Harry was playing a different game altogether. No, Ron didn't like it one little bit.

It was in times like these that Ron relied on the other constant in his life, because in all the craziness about Harry, Ron had Hermione.

Hermione was a knight on Ron's internal chessboard. Just when you thought she was on a straight path, she'd take a turn that completely surprised you. She made leaps in logic that he never saw until he could sit down and trace her path after it was all over. He was counting on her to figure out Harry.

But when Harry was being un-Harry-like and Hermione was being un-Hermione-like, what was a bloke suppose to do?

He really hated this.

"Her hair's giving off those weird blue sparks again."

Really, really hated this.

"Did Professor Dumbledore say anything?"

Harry's grimace showed his still simmering annoyance with the older wizard. "Not really. All he'd say is that 'Miss Granger has made a great sacrifice for the Order and the good of the wizarding world.' Then he laughed like a madman and said he had to go see a witch about some numbers. After that, he took off."

"So the fact that Hermione here is sitting and staring at nothing isn't something we should be worried over?" Ron asked, as he reached towards his shell-shocked friend. A second later he jerked his hand back as another of the electric blue sizzles arced from the tip of her hair to sting the back of his band. He rubbed it absently and added, "She's angry about something. Hey, Harry, do I spark when I'm angry?"

Harry, sitting on the other side of Hermione, peered around their still-oblivious friend. "Not that I've ever seen, although your ears turn red. Do I?"

Ron shook his head. "Nope."

"Do you think it has anything to do with those three house-elves that appeared this morning?" Harry asked. "House-elves here at Grimmauld must mean that Hermione's idea of using them for escape from Death Eater attacks is going to work."

"We better hope the plan works. Did you hear me Mum screaming when the elves took over the kitchen?" Ron gave a dramatic shudder. "Even the portrait of Mrs Black was impressed with some of things coming out of Mum's mouth."

"The house is definitely cleaner now with them here."

"And Kreacher was right pissed, he was."

"Although, I think that short elf wearing the fancy pillowcase was positively scandalized over something. What was his name again? Professor Dumbledore went through them so quickly that I don't think I caught it. Wink . . . Blink . . . something . . . ."

Ron and Harry both jumped as Hermione snapped, "His name is Rink."

"Hermione! Cor, Hermione, I was beginning to think you'd be lost in that daze forever. What happened?"

Ron was actually rather afraid of the look in Hermione's eyes and had the sudden realization that he was glad that Hermione didn't want to become the next Dark Lord.

"So," he asked again, "What happened? You were gone when we got up this morning and then when you got back you came in here, and you haven't moved since. Dumbledore was acting all odd and there are house-elves everywhere."

Ron exchanged another look with Harry as Hermione bent over and buried her face in her hands. Her voice muffled, she began to recount her night. "Dumbledore left last night after dinner to talk to the head house-elf at Hogwarts. She told Dumbledore that she wanted to talk to the person who came up with the ideas, so Professor Dumbledore came back and got me late last night. The head-elf – her name is Lonny – decided that for the 'gift of the opportunity of great service' that I was providing the house-elves that I needed an equally great reward."

Hermione raised her head back up. "Did you know that the house-elves bound _themselves_ in the beginning to the various wizarding families because those families are the ones that offered the most _opportunities for service_?"

Ron was beginning to see where this was going and bit his lip to keep the grin off his face. His resolve broke though when he caught the expression on Harry's face. "So when you say that this head-elf person thought you were responsible for giving them a great opportunity . . ." Ron couldn't continue with a straight face and started to laugh. "Hermione, are you saying that this elf gave you your very own house-elf?"

"It's not funny, Ron."

Harry snickered. "She is saying that."

"No, I'm not saying that I was given a house-elf." Hermione stood and then stomped a trainer-covered foot. "What I'm telling you two great idiots, is that this evening the Great and Noble House of Granger was established and that the House of Granger owns _multiple_ house-elves."

"The Great and Noble. . . " Ron began.

" . . .House of Granger." Harry finished.

At which point both boys completed lost it and dissolved into great gales of laughter.

It was not a laughing matter. She, Hermione Granger, founder of S.P.E.W., owned, okay, not she personally, but she as a member of the House of Granger, and really, _the House of Granger,_ owned house-elves.

Two house-elves, although it really ought to be two-and-half house-elves, with the newly-minted Granger Line Matriarch being pregnant with what would soon be the first official born-to-the-line Granger house-elf.

The irony wasn't lost on her. The universe was laughing at her. Ron and Harry were laughing at her. Ron, Harry, irony, and laughing universes, however, could all take a flying leap into the Hogwarts' lake. She hadn't even told the two laughing twits about how Dumbledore had escorted her out of the Hogwarts' kitchens and back to her home where she'd informed her parents of the new order of things.

Thank God she had smart parents, who acted surprised upon being introduced to house-elves. But smart or not, she could have strangled the both of them when after only a few moments of adjustment and what-do-you-want-us-to-do type shrugs, her parents had happily settled into their new roles of being elf owners.

They had even, with a little help from Dumbledore and his wand, turned the guest room into the elves' room. There had been talk about letting the elves go into the dental practice office at night to do any extra cleaning they wanted, seeing as keeping the Granger house wasn't all that strenuous to beings who had easy access to their own special brand of magic.

Hermione continued to stare balefully at her friends for a moment longer before spinning on her heel and stomping out of the room.

* * *

Loud banging pulled Miranda from her sleep. She was a woman who liked to sleep in, when she didn't have to get up. She was a woman who knew the joy of a good sleep. It was summer. She had no students and no classes. Death Eaters, she was fairly certain, didn't bang enthusiastically on their victim's front doors at 8:20 in the morning. 

That left Dumbledore.

Bowing to the inevitable, she climbed out of bed, threw on a robe and headed for the front door. A wave of her wand verified the identity of her caller. Another complicated wave of her wand lowered the wards and opened the door.

"Come in, Albus."

"Tsk, tsk, my dear. Have you not read the Ministry's advisement about opening your doors to someone without verifying their identity through a mutually-known secret code word?"

"You are on my doorstep at the crack of dawn. You are wearing a turquoise and canary yellow robe with a matching hat. You are carrying a box of freshly-made beignets, which I thank you for, by the way. You _are _Albus Bloody Dumbledore. Now get in here before the Muggle neighbors spot you."

Albus entered, passing the pastry box over to his colleague. "It's nice to know that your delightful morning personality is a constant, even away from Hogwarts. It's no wonder that I sit you at the opposite end of the table from Severus."

Miranda ignored him, instead focusing on opening the box in her hands. The smell of warm sugar waffed up from the open box and she sighed in delight. Raising her eyes, she caught Albus grinning at her. "These are obviously a bribe, so I'm not sharing. You also seem quite jovial, so you have news. Spill."

Taking the box to her sitting room, she bit into the first beignet and waited for Albus to explain why he was there.

"It is indeed good news. And I must say, you were definitely right to break out a separate equation for Miss Granger. I believe that last night she may have given us the leverage we need to get a step ahead on Tom."

Swallowing her bite and then licking the sugar from her fingers between words, Miranda asked the obvious question, knowing Albus was waiting for her to do just that. "So what idea has Miss Granger given you?"

"The house-elves."

Digging back into the box, she selected another beignet. "House-elves?" she questioned, puzzlement clear in her voice.

"Yes, Miss Granger mentioned something at dinner last night and said she'd actually seen you call your personal elf. She suggested we align elves with those at risk in the Order. Elves have the ability to listen for calls for help and to Apparate multiple people past both regular and anti-Apparation wards. It is a perfect solution. Miss Granger and I spent most of the night talking with the Hogwarts Matriarch – "

"Lonny talked to a student?"

Albus chuckled. "Yes, it was quite remarkable. Although, given Miss Granger's past – exploits, shall we call them – with the elves, I suppose it is understandable that Lonny wished to speak with Miss Granger personally."

Miranda contemplated the last beignet in the box. _Eat it now or later?_ With a small sigh, she closed the box. "So why are you here, Albus? Better yet, why are you here with beignets?"

"I want you to add a new equation and run the number sequences again. I think that the mysterious silver line could be the house-elves. It would seem they have a part to play in this."

Miranda frowned slightly as she thought over the possibilities and quickly did a few permutations in her head. "Possibly," she said at last. "They could very well be the rogue. It would make sense, even down to how the line appeared in the matrix. It certainly fits with the house-elves habit of doing things behind the scenes without actually being seen." Her frown deepened and she gave Albus a hard look as she shook the box in her lap. "But new equations don't mean beignets that you had to go to France to get."

"Such a suspicious nature, my dear. It's such a shame you would never let me fix you up with Severus. I do think you two would get along well."

"Albus . . ."

""Fine," he sighed with a raise of his bushy eyebrows. Then just as quickly, the jovial demeanor was dropped and serious blue eyes met her own. "I want you to join the inner circle of the Order. I need you to be more in the center of things. If this plan to use the house-elves works, Tom will not be pleased and he will react accordingly. That could explain the acceleration you've seen in the probability lines. I'm going to need your expertise as changes occur."

* * *

**Author Note #2**: There – more elves than you can shake a wand at, a Rink cameo, and enough conversations that it caused me to break out in hives. I demand Calamine lotion. 


	20. Ch 20: Reunions

Author's Note: I'm still waiting on one beta. She's feeling a bit poorly so it's taking a little longer than normal. Once again, I'll fix the chapter once I get her input. In the meanwhile, if any of you eagle-eyed readers spot any mistakes or errors, feel free to email me. I'd rather know about mistakes and fix them than leave them laying about like trash in the corners of a room. -C

**Chapter 20: Reunions**

"Enter," the voice called from within the room.

Taking one last deep breath to centre himself, Severus pushed open the heavy oak door. He'd been called to Voldemort's private study: an overdone little room that reeked of ostentatious wealth and was replete with unsubtle displays of power. It was, in Severus' well-hidden and never voiced opinion, a room that was designed around what a Muggle 'thought' a powerful wizard's inner sanctum would look like. It was, nevertheless, an imposing room and served its purpose of engendering awe and respect from those who stepped within its panelled confines. It had done that to him twenty-something years ago, it did it now to the wide-eyed, eager idiots who even now came to listen and pledge their support to 'the cause.'

He never let his true thoughts on the 'the cause' rise to the surface of his mind. Ever. Not even within the semi-safe confines of his dungeon rooms at Hogwarts.

"Sseverus," Lord Voldemort acknowledged with a broad sweep of his arm, and gestured to the chair that sat before a massive desk. "Come, sit with me."

Taking the sole chair, Severus watched as Voldemort turned his back to the room and stared out the window against the opposite wall. It was a deliberate insult and a show of just how beneath him Voldemort thought Severus to be, but Severus was unconcerned. Better to have Voldemort think him weak than consider him a threat. Those Voldemort deemed as threats typically didn't live long.

He did use the opportunity though to study Voldemort's reflection within the glass.

The humanising process that Voldemort had begun earlier in the year had reached its fruition. The man reflected in the glass was just that – a man, not a monster -- or at least not a recognisable monster. Black hair had finally grown in to frame wide, intelligent eyes. Vitality showed in the straight line of his back and the confident set of his shoulders while his unlined face reflected a youthfulness that belayed Voldemort's true age. Even the hissing sibilants that marked his speech after his resurrection were fading, although Severus had noted with a bit of amusement that his own name still seemed to cause Voldemort problems.

Sitting there now, Severus felt a peculiar duality of vision. Here, he sat before the desk of a youthful Voldemort, his office neat and orderly. Soft chamber music could be heard coming from the wizarding wireless in the corner of the room. And yet, not long ago as summer began, Severus had sat before another desk and before another wizard, that one an aging Dumbledore, his office a cluttered mess of whirling contraptions and papers. There too, soft chamber music had played in the background.

Two powerful wizards reflecting each other – good and evil, young and old, affirmer and destroyer. _And I stand between them. The link that binds them together_.

Sometimes, on those long nights when he couldn't sleep, his thoughts wandered onto strange and sometimes dangerous paths. One of his odder thoughts returned before he could submerge it beneath the reflective waters within his mind. If he didn't exist, could Voldemort and Dumbledore exist? Could good exist without the counterpoint of evil? Could evil exist without good? If Dumbledore ceased to exist, would Voldemort disappear as well?

"What news, Sseverus?" Voldemort asked at last, snapping Snape from his rather dangerous musings.

He made sure to keep his voice level as he answered. "We had two raids scheduled last night. The raid against the bridge crossing the Ouse River at York succeeded spectacularly. The Muggle are afraid and their officials disorganized especially with the attacks seeming to happen at random and all over England. Their fear already bleeds over into the Wizarding world. Wizarding businesses that have ties to the Muggle world are feeling the strain. Several have already closed their doors." He paused, unsure of how Voldemort would take his next bit of news. "Unfortunately," he finally said, "the strike against Auror Patkins and his Muggle wife failed. Aurors appeared within moments of our arrival. None of those loyal to you were captured, but MacNair was injured."

"So, you tell me that we have demolished a bridge, and yet our true targets escaped?"

Severus winced at his lord's words. "Yes, sir. We were unable to apprehend the Patkins. Our people never even saw them."

Voldemort hissed in anger and Severus tensed. Voldemort had a tendency to punish the bearers of bad news. "Tell me how a Mudblood escaped my Death Eaters?" Voldemort demanded. "Tell me, Severus, how is Dumbledore doing this!"

"I can not tell you, my lord. I do not know. As we are in the summer months, to protect my cover, I have not met with Dumbledore. The old fool never mentioned this plan, or how it is being executed while Hogwarts was in session."

Voldemort paced before the window in obvious agitation. Severus stayed in the chair he'd been directed to, unsure of where this conversion was going. He was beginning to fear that he might not leave this room alive. His fear crept up into the range of certainty at Voldemort's next question.

"Are there spies among my favourites, Sseverus?" Voldemort turned and pinned Severus with a hard glare. "Do I, even now, hold a viper to my chest?"

Severus let his mind go completely blank; nothing disturbed the mirror-like surface of his mental landscape as he answered. "I can not know for certain, my lord."

Voldemort left off his pacing and moved to stand before Severus' chair. "And what of you, my servant? Where do your loyalties lie?"

"My loyalty is unchanged," he answered immediately. "It is, as it has been. Yet you know that I am a spy, my lord. You, yourself, set me upon this path and I have not wavered. Even now I take the instructions of Dumbledore and his pathetic Order. I have done this at your behest for all these years."

"But whose spy are you truly?" Voldemort asked, as he leaned casually back against the desk's edge.

Severus was not fooled at Voldemort's suddenly relaxed and casual stance and made sure that his mind held only the reflections of his loyalty. With no sign of hesitation, he met his Voldemort's eyes, feeling the touch of his lord's legilimency brush along his thoughts.

"Tell me, Sseverus, do even you know to whom your loyalty is given?"

The cold touch of fear went through him. _Had Voldemort seen something? _ "My first loyalty is to you," he answered, choosing each word with measured care.

Voldemort laughed, a sound that did nothing to ease the fear coiling in his belly. "There, Sseverus, is why out of all your brethren, I value your company the most. The others bow and scrape, rolling onto their backs. But you, Sseverus, you defy me, even when your words seek to placate me."

"My lord-"

Voldemort continued as if Severus had not spoken. "Do you know, Sseverus, that out of all my elite, my honoured Death Eaters, you are still the only one whom I can not tell when you are lying? I was wise to choose you for my spy." Voldemort laughed again. "I am sure that the old man feels quite the same, secure in the knowledge that his spy is undetectable. Tell me, Sseverus, can Dumbledore tell when you lie?"

_A verbal trap – either answer could damn him to a painful death._ "No, my lord, I do not believe that he can."

A pleased smile lit Voldemort's face and Severus let out a silent sigh in relief. "Very good, Sseverus. Very good indeed. And to that end, I am setting a task for you. I must know how the Order is defeating my chosen ones."

"The summer is not yet over, sir. To return to Dumbledore and the Order prematurely would raise questions I cannot answer."

"Then it is well that you will have a reason to return."

"My lord? I don't under-"

He never finished his thought as with a wave of Voldemort's hand, Severus flew back, his body lifted from the chair to collide with the far wall.

Stunned at the unexpected attack, Severus fought to drag air into his lungs. Instinct screamed at him to reach for his wand. Experience fought against the urge. He was alive; Voldemort had not killed him and Voldemort never did anything without a reason, though his reasoning was often times bizarre. Fighting to draw air into stunned lungs, Severus gasped out, "My lord . . . I do not understand . . . Have I displeased you?"

Voldemort smiled, revealing incisors that were just a tad longer than human normal. _More of Nagini's influence,_ a part of his mind noted automatically from beneath the smooth layer of mental deception.

Voldemort squatted down to where Severus sat propped up against the wall. "On the contrary, Severus, I am most pleased with you." A pale hand reached out and brushed away the lock of black hair that had fallen into Severus' eyes. The gesture was a parody of fatherly affection. Severus fought hard to remain still beneath that touch.

A flick of Voldemort's fingers and his wand appeared. The wooden tip traced against his now exposed temple. "You, my servant, need an excuse to return to the old fool's side. I am going to provide you with an adequately convincing excuse."

Again the wand tip traced over his face, down the curve of his cheek and under his jaw. "When Dumbledore asks, you will tell him that I am most displeased with you because of the thwarted raids."

The wand traced down his throat to tap against the high collar of his robe. "You will find out how it is being done." Again the wand moved, this time centring over his heart. "And when you find out how he is accomplishing this, you will report back to me. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my lord."

Voldemort smiled again, still wrapped up in his façade of fatherly concern. "This will, of course, hurt me more than it will you."

That was all the warning he got as he was enveloped in a blast of sickly greenish-yellow magic. As he used those few precious seconds to sink his consciousness beneath the chill waters of his mind, he heard his own voice screaming.

* * *

Hermione listened to the thunder that boomed and echoed outside the Black house. Safe and warm within the cocoon of her bed sheets, she stared up at the ceiling. As was becoming her habit of late, she was awake before the rest of inhabitants of Grimmauld Place. Usually by this time she would already be downstairs in the drab little kitchen, waiting and hoping that Professor Snape would appear, while the house-elves assigned to Grimmauld Place moved around her as they fixed the morning meal. She had been ever so thankful to learn that her status as a pseudo-elf allowed her the privilege of staying in the kitchens. Mrs Weasley still wasn't allowed to spend more than five minutes at a time in there. Of course, everyone wanted to know why she got 'special privileges.' Surprisingly enough, Ron had come to her rescue when he'd started laughing about the Great and Noble House of Granger. Everyone had simply assumed that as the only legitimate house-elf owner at Grimmauld Place, the elves were deferring to her for their orders. It was a complete load of bunk, but Hermione hadn't corrected their assumptions.

This morning, with the storm raging outside, she'd stayed a little longer in the comfort of her bed. Another flash of lightening struck, illuminating the dirty, cracked plaster of the ceiling, followed almost immediately by a particularly loud crack of thunder that rattled the bedroom's windowpanes.

Here she was again, flat on her back and staring up at the ceiling. Her thoughts spiralled outward, thought associations leading her further along in a meandering path. In that moment, safe and warm, she thought of everything and nothing.

_I really hope that Professor Snape isn't out in this weather. I wonder if he will be coming back soon. Ceilings are boring. I'll have to remember that when I get a place of my own. I'll need to have an interesting ceiling to stare up at while I'm thinking. When I graduate Hogwarts . . . if I graduate Hogwarts . . . if we aren't all dead and if the wizarding world is still standing when this is all over . . . if it will ever be over_.

Jumping slightly at another roll of thunder, Hermione forcibly turned away from her darker thoughts. Pulling on the sheet covering her, she attempted to dislodge Crookshanks from his resting spot sprawled across her left leg. The heavy cat didn't budge at her subtle hint to move.

"Lazy cat," she muttered affectionately.

Deciding that Crooks could keep his favourite spot for a few more minutes, her thoughts wound back around to Snape. _Surely Snape wouldn't come on such a dark and miserable morning_. It had been over two weeks since that fateful morning meeting in the kitchen, and every day that passed without hearing from him caused the knot of tension in the pit of her stomach to grow larger. Her fears were not helped by the fact that Order activity at Grimmauld Place had increased over the last couple of days with people coming and going at odd hours and meetings being set up with Dumbledore, Moody or Lupin.

The increased activity lent proof that their shadow war with Voldemort finally seemed to be going in their favour. There were _Daily Prophet_ reports of thwarted attacks on multiple wizarding and Muggle families that seemed to indicate that her suggestion of using the house-elves as fast escape routes for families at risk was working.

Yet, for all the apparent good cheer from of the rest of the Black house inhabitants, Hermione could find no good cheer within herself as long as Professor Snape remained absent.

She might as well get up. The house-elves assigned to Grimmauld Place would be more than happy to make her a nice breakfast downstairs. She wrinkled her nose in exasperation. _House-elves_. At least Rink had gotten himself volunteered to Grimmauld Place. Having the little elf nearby made her feel better and she was fairly sure that Rink felt the same. At least with the two of them together, they had someone to share their worries with.

She had just decided to get up when Rink appeared above her with a muted _pop_ . Long used to the house-elf's habit of appearing at all times standing on her bed, she didn't jump or shriek in surprise. She did sit up in alarm though when she caught sight of the terrified look on Rink's face. His large, bat-like ears, usually upright and forward, were laid back against his skull, much like Crookshanks' did when the tomcat was particularly angry.

"Ri-"

She never finished the word as Rink grabbed hold of her hand and they vanished.

"-nk"

She had one brief moment of disorientation as her brain caught up with the fact that she was standing downstairs in the foyer. The massive wood door to the Black house was standing open with what looked to be the Black house complement of house-elves standing in a ring in the doorway.

"Rink? What's going on?" she asked in confusion.

Rink tugged her closer to the group of elves and they parted before her. Across the threshold, in a slowly widening red-tinged puddle of rainwater, lay the crumpled form of Professor Snape.

For a split second she stood in absolute shock before another tug on her hand from Rink started her moving again. Letting go of Rink's hand, she knelt at her professor's side. Fresh bruises covered his face, their dark mottled colour in direct contrast to his even paler-than-normal complexion. A long jagged gash at his hairline wept bright red rivulets of blood that wound down next to older, dried tracks the colour of rust. For a few heart-stopping moments she thought he was dead until she caught the shallow movement of his chest.

_What do I do?_ "Professor Snape? Can you hear me?"

Hermione bit her lip hard. He wasn't moving. She'd seen worse wounds and bruises after an average Quidditch match so she shouldn't be worried, right?

"Professor Snape?"

She pressed a trembling hand flat against his chest, only to cry out in pain as some sort of latent magic leapt from his body at her touch. Fire burned along her hand and she ground her teeth together holding in the rising scream.

As she fell back against the wall, Rink took a step towards her and then stopped in indecision as he looked between Hermione and Professor Snape, unsure of whom he should attend.

Hermione shook her head. "I'm okay," she hissed between still clenched teeth. "There's some kind of magical residue or curse still affecting him."

Using her shoulder as a brace against the wall, Hermione pushed herself up to her feet. The pain in her hand was lessening but it still hurt to move her fingers.

_What kind of pain must Professor Snape be enduring? Could you even survive that kind of pain and still remain sane? Would he end up like Neville's parents? What do I do?_

For a few precious seconds she drew a complete blank, her mind simply unable to decide what she should do first. Somewhere in the back of her panicked thoughts, an acerbic voice that sounded suspiciously like her professor's snarled, "Are you stupid, girl? Think!"

Letting out a ragged breath, she turned to the house-elves.

"Brolly, go find Professor Dumbledore and bring him here now. I don't care where he is or what he's doing. Bring him here."

Brolly, one of the house-elves stationed by Dumbledore at the Black house to act as 'runners' for the Order, nodded sharply at her command and vanished.

She turned to Rink next, who was wringing one ear between his hands in obvious agitation. "Rink, take Professor Snape upstairs to one of the empty rooms. Get him out of his wet clothes and get him dry and into a bed. Try to keep him as still as possible and whatever you do, don't touch him directly."

Rink stared forlornly at her before saying softly, "Yes, Miss." He gave a complicated wave of his long fingers and Professor Snape's body rose up in the air. With slow and steady movements Rink directed him up the stairs.

Hermione wasn't sure if it was a good sign or a bad sign that Rink had reverted to the more formal 'Miss' rather than his usual 'Hermy.' She would worry about that later.

"Wren, please go wake Mrs Weasley. Tell her that Professor Snape has been hurt and take her to him. Make sure that you tell her that she can't touch him directly."

When Wren left, Hermione paused, not sure what else to do.

"Please, Miss, what can Pella do?"

Hermione realised one last elf still stood in the foyer. Hermione shivered, and belatedly realised that the front door still stood wide open and rain was blowing in with each gust of storm-driven wind.

"Miss?"

Giving herself a shake, Hermione focused back on her task. "Close the door, Pella. And . . . and, if you could, please clean up this mess."

Not sure what else to do, Hermione sat down on the stairs to wait. Brolly would bring the headmaster. Cradling her still throbbing hand in her lap, she waited.

* * *

Less than an hour later, the Black house was in an uproar. Everyone who was living at Grimmauld Place had gathered in the library. Other members of the Order had gathered as well. Situated in the shadowed window seat with her back to the still raging storm outside, Hermione listened to the storm raging inside, and wondered where all these people had come from.

Arguments and speculation circulated about the room. Everyone had their own theories about Snape's return and what it could mean. That his condition was serious had been circulated as well. Whatever Voldemort had done to him, was still affecting him, the curse also attacking anyone who tried to touch him. Her own hand still tingled uncomfortably, although thankfully the searing pain had finally abated. In this situation, they couldn't even properly assess Professor Snape for further injuries or treat the ones they could see.

Rink had reported to her earlier that Snape did have other injuries beyond the bruising and the head wound. That no one seemed to be able to help Professor Snape was slowly driving Rink into a state. She'd told Rink to stay by the professor. She was very much afraid that he'd attack the next Order member who said anything derogatory about the Potions master. And more than one derogatory comment had been said in the last hour. If it came to it, _she_ might attack the next Order member who said something derogatory about the Potions master.

As if on cue, her attention was caught by Moody's loud voice. "We've been betrayed. It's obvious. That traitor has given us away."

Dissent came from across the room, from a person Hermione couldn't see, although she recognised Professor McGonagall's dry, acerbic tones. "Balderdash, Alastor. The man was tortured and beaten. If Severus had betrayed us, do you not think that Riddle would have rewarded him better?"

"He was tortured until he gave us up. He was dumped on our very doorstep as a taunt."

Hermione felt ill as she watched Harry step up to Moody's side to lend his voice to the ugly mood gathering in the library. "Snape can't be trusted. It's obviously a trap of some sort. Why else bring him here?"

She couldn't listen to this . . .couldn't . . . wouldn't.

Getting up she headed for the door, as angry and worried voices rose around her. She let them wash over and around her. Truthfully, she'd given up listening to them as more and more had arrived. Why were these people even here? What did they hope to gain? And if Voldemort had tortured Snape into somehow breaking the Fidelius, coming here just made them bigger targets.

"Idiots," she muttered, as she exited the room. She was beginning to understand why Professor Snape loathed people. They were all idiots.

Seeing Professor Dumbledore coming down the stairs, she forgot her brooding contempt for her fellow Order members and hurried to meet him at the bottom of the stairs.

"How is Professor Snape, sir?"

"Not good, I'm afraid, Miss Granger. Tom has hurt him very badly." The headmaster gave a tired sigh. "I understand that we have you to thank for him even being alive now. Your quick actions, Hermione . . . ." The headmaster trailed off. "I don't even know how he made it as far as Grimmauld Place on his own."

She seized on Professor Dumbledore's words. "You think that he came here on his own? That Voldemort didn't dump him here as a taunt to us?"

Dumbledore gave her a small smile. "I have no doubts, Miss Granger, of Severus' strength or loyalty. And of one thing, I am very certain: Severus brought himself here." A shadow that Hermione couldn't interpret crossed the headmaster's face before he continued. "I have faith that Severus will always come back."

An odd sense of foreboding hit Hermione at the Headmaster's words, but she shook it off to ask the question that had been most on her mind since Dumbledore's arrival at the house earlier. "When will Madam Pomfrey get here to fix him?"

Dumbledore shook his head, his countenance grave. "Poppy is unavailable to us at the moment. By the time an owl could get to her, and she could get back here, it could well be too late. We've sent for Poppy and I've done what I can. I was finally able to break the remaining curse, but the rest of his injuries are very serious. Whether he lives or dies, I'm afraid, is now up to Severus."

A sudden surge of anger overrode her common sense. "So you're just going to let him die?"

"Miss Granger! I think you forget yourself," Dumbledore snapped. "I have called Severus friend for more years than you've been alive. You wished to be an adult, Miss Granger. Being that adult is also knowing and understanding the choices that those who are Order members make in this war with Tom." Reaching out, Dumbledore placed a firm hand on Hermione's shoulder. "As hard as this is to understand, Severus made his choice long ago and made it freely."

Hermione pulled away, Dumbledore's hand falling away from her. A plan, half-formed and shadowy, filled her with resolve. Once again they were just leaving Snape to his own devices. Damned, if she was going to do it too.

"Then I'm making my choice." Darting past him, she ran towards the front door. Flinging it open, she headed out into the storm.

It was still pouring rain when she tore out of Grimmauld Place as if the very Hounds of Hell were nipping at her heels. She was shivering and soaked to the skin within seconds of leaving the front stoop. However, she noticed neither the cold nor the rain as she ran down the short walk that separated the house from the walkway. She skidded to a halt as she felt the magic that enclosed the house in the _Fidelius_ wash over her skin and tingle along her senses. She was now outside of the magic that bound the house. Turning just in time, she caught the peculiar twisting of reality that made the house seemingly vanish into thin air, squashed between the houses at No. eleven and No. thirteen.

The second the house vanished completely from her sight, Hermione gripped her wand, focussed and then Apparated, her departure covered by a brilliant flash of lightning, followed immediately by a ground shaking roll of thunder.

She reappeared outside St. Mungo's. Breaking once more into a run, she headed for the side entrance that she and Professor Snape had used during her detention.

Flinging open the door, she was confronted with the same squat witch from before. Hermione didn't even pause as she blew past her in a flurry of shed raindrops. Behind her, she heard a shouted "Stop!" but Hermione ignored her. Not even taking the time to dry out her wet clothes, Hermione took off down the twisting, labyrinthine corridors that made up the administrative side of the wizarding hospital towards Healer Alverez's office. As the Healer in charge of the Spell Damage ward, Hermione was sure that the witch would be able to help Professor Snape.

If she could get to the Healer, that is.

Hearing shouted voices behind her, Hermione put on an extra burst of speed. She had to get to the Healer before the receptionist got to Hermione. Fate wasn't on her side though as two burly wizards appeared at the bottom of the steps leading up to the Healer's domain. Behind them, red in the face and breathing hard was the receptionist from the entrance.

"There she is," the woman huffed. "Grab her!"

Hermione held up her empty hands to show she wasn't concealing a wand. "Please wait. It's an emergency. I have to talk to Healer Alverez."

"Emergencies," sniped the witch, "should be reported at the main Emergency entrance, where you will be seen by one of the attending Healers."

Hermione took a step backwards, preparing to make another run for it, as the door at the top of the stairs opened.

"Edelrod, what's going on?" The Healer noticed Hermione standing with her hands still up in the air. "Miss Granger? What are you doing here?" she asked in confusion.

Hermione sagged in relief at the timely intervention. Jumping in before Edelrod, who was obviously the seriously disgruntled receptionist, could tell her side, Hermione launched into her plea, mindful that she was probably breaking about a dozen Order rules about secrecy.

"Please, Healer Alverez. I need to talk to you. It's about Professor Snape."

The Healer's brows rose and she looked a bit skeptical. Not that Hermione blamed the witch. She was soaked though; her hair was probably standing wild around her head and with the Ministry's constant warnings to be on the lookout for suspicious activity and potential Death Eaters, Hermione probably would have hesitated as well.

"Please," she said again, trying to put all of her desperation into her words. "It's important."

The Healer stared at her for a long moment before she nodded her head. "Very well, Miss Granger. I'll give you a few minutes." Turning a smile to the receptionist, she added, "It's all right, Edelrod. I'll talk to Miss Granger and see her out myself."

The older witch cast a suspicious gaze at Hermione. "If you're sure, Healer." When Healer Alverez nodded, the witch reluctantly gathered up the two security guards and headed back down the hallway. As she passed, Hermione could hear her muttering some rather unflattering things about "hooligan young witches disturbing hospitals at all hours of the morning."

It was only then that Hermione realised that it was still very early in the morning. So much had happened in so short a period of time that she'd completely lost track of time. She hoped that Professor Snape could hold on a little while longer.

Pulling out her wand and drying herself off with a quick spell first, Hermione followed after the Healer into her office.

Settling into one of the Healer's office chairs, Hermione tried to figure out how to begin. She was somewhat startled when Healer Alverez started the conversion.

"Now, tell me what kind of emergency sends young witches running through the halls of St. Mungo's."

Best to start at the beginning Hermione decided. "Professor Snape has been hurt. There isn't anyone who can help him and I thought you might help him."

That definitely got the witch's attention. "Severus is hurt? How?"

Hermione opened her mouth to answer and then immediately snapped it shut. "I can't tell you."

"You can't tell me?" One of the Healer's brows went up in disbelief.

"No, ma'am."

Healer Alverez contemplated her shrewdly, her eyes narrowed in concentration. Hermione fidgeted a bit under that assessing regard.

"If you can not tell me how he was injured, can you tell me where is he now?"

"Uh . . ." Hermione hesitated for a moment and then said, "I can't tell you that either."

Hermione winced as again the Healer's brow rose up towards her hairline. "Please, I know it sounds bad and unbelievable. But, Professor Snape was doing something very important. And he got hurt. And he's hurt really badly. Enough that Professor Dumbledore thinks he might not live. He needs someone to help him."

"Professor Dumbledore thinks, is it?"

Hermione bit at her bottom lip. Mentioning Dumbledore was probably a mistake. She'd probably just compromised the Order. Panic was starting to set in again. This wasn't going exactly as she'd planned. Not that she'd really had a plan to be begin with before she'd run out of Grimmauld Place. _I'm a complete idiot_.

Healer Alverez was now leaning forward over her desk, her hands clasped before her. Hermione didn't like the look on the woman's face. It reminded her too much of Crookshanks when he finally cornered a mouse.

"If you can not tell me where Professor Snape is, or how he was injured, can you tell me how a Hogwarts' student on summer holidays came to be involved?"

She was definitely the cornered mouse. Abruptly, she stood up. This was a mistake, one she realised could have disastrous results for the entire Order.

"Sit down, Miss Granger."

Hermione ignored her, intent on making a getaway before she was asked any more questions. "Never mind, Healer Alverez. I think I was mistaken. I'll just see myself-"

"Sit!" the witch barked. Years of dealing with obstinate patients and harried hospital staff had, like Snape dealing with less than enthusiastic children, given Healer Alverez the ability to infuse absolute command into her voice.

Hermione sat, fear clutched tight around her chest.

In a less demanding tone, Healer Alverez continued. "I have known your professor for many years, young woman. His talents are extraordinary. St. Mungo's research department would take him in a second if he ever left Hogwarts. In fact, they've offered him a position here every year for the past fourteen years. Every year, they offer him more money and more staff and more freedom to pursue his own research opportunities. Every year he had turned them down."

Hermione frowned in puzzlement but kept her silence. She didn't understand how any of that had to do with the situation now and why the witch wouldn't let her leave.

"A few years ago, after the latest offer, I asked Severus why he turned us down each year as it is obvious that he cares little for the art of teaching. Do you know what he told me, Miss Granger?"

Hermione shook her head, still confused where this story was going.

"He said that he had promises to keep before he could leave Hogwarts. Being the nosy old witch that I am, I asked him what kind of promises. He laughed then, although I always thought it was a rather unhappy laugh. He said that his promises where the kind made to madmen and not to be broken."

Hermione didn't say a word, unsure how she was supposed to answer.

Healer Alverez stood up. "I've always thought it interesting that Severus spoke of _madmen_ and not a single _madman_. I have never been asked to participate in the conflict raging around us. And I am not stupid, Miss Granger. I am well aware that there is a war going on, regardless of what the Ministry would like us to believe. I think that it is time I chose a side and I suppose it's time to meet one of the madmen."

Gathering up her travelling cloak, the Healer picked up a brown leather bag from which the sound of clinking bottles rose. "You will, of course, need to do a side-along Apparition to wherever we are going." Healer Alverez eyed her critically. "You're young, so please try not to splinch us. Or if you do, try to splinch only yourself. At least that way I can put you back together. You'll probably also need to put me to sleep. Albus is no fool and probably has half a dozen wards and spells guarding wherever we're going. My guess is probably a Fidelius. I know I'd certainly use one." She tilted her head slightly as she thought. "Hmmm, _Petrificus Totalus_ won't work, as the brain is still in a conscious state. I'd suggest the Somnambul Charm. Are you familiar with that spell?"

At Hermione's dumbfounded nod, Healer Alverez smiled. "Good. Well, shall we?"

Hermione could only stare at the woman in amazement. When had she lost complete and utter control of the situation? Dumbledore was so going to kill her.

* * *

Okay, so it wasn't exactly the Snape/Hermione reunion that so many of you wanted. But hey, at least they are back together in the house now and Snape won't be going anywhere so there is lots of Snape/Hermione action coming up. Plus, we now have the semi-naked Snape rehabilitation scene to look forward to.

Vector was supposed to make another appearance but she got pushed to the next chapter. This constant shifting is what makes this story keep growing. Have I ever told you guys that it was originally only suppose to be about six chapters long? Obviously I was delusional.

Also, a big thank you and shout out to all those who sent virtual Calamine lotion and Benedryl. Considering what's coming up in the next chapters, I'm going to need a good, steady supply.


	21. Ch 21: Unravelling

Author's Note: Yes, I know, this one took a little longer. It couldn't be helped. Just because I haven't mentioned it in a while -- Harry Potter and co. do not belong to me. If they did, Book 6 would have gone a lot differently.

Many thanks to my wonderful betas Potion Mistress and Keladry. Any remaining mistakes are all mine and I would appreciate you guys letting me know if you spot any.

-C

**

* * *

**

**Ch 21: Unravelling**

Miranda Vector had thought long and hard about Albus' offer to join the "Inner Circle" of the Order of the Phoenix. There were pros and cons for both joining and not joining. She had, of course, sat down and seriously weighed the options that were presented to her. As the closest thing the wizarding world possessed to both a mathematician and statistician, Miranda Vector was rather good at weighing options.

She liked calculating the probabilities of success and failure. She liked having weighted values and knowing the value of diminishing returns. She liked knowing what she was getting into before she got into it. She was not, after all, a Gryffindor. She would never leap before looking. She was an extremely prudent Ravenclaw who would not only look, but drop a measuring string down the other side, take a few measurements, snap a wizarding photo or two, calculate the odds and then jump.

Or not.

Because really, why jump when just walking down to the other side was vastly safer and eminently more practical?

Miranda being Miranda, she'd taken a few days and done a few calculations and drew a few probability lines using some of her better Arithmantic calculations. She was, after all, an Arithmancer, and a damn good one, if she did say so herself. Ultimately, she'd decided that Albus was correct and that her skills were needed on a more immediate basis. Of course, that decision had been partially based on a rather ugly convergence she'd noticed in the main probability matrix that pointed at something serious happening between Voldemort and the Order's spy. A convergence that predicated the meeting between the Order's spy and the mysterious, and rather annoying, rogue line.

So, decision made, she'd gone back to Albus' little sea cliff home to tell him that she was accepting his offer. She'd been in the midst of explaining one of her pro/con decision trees when an elf had appeared before the two of them. Performing what was probably the most perfunctory bow that she'd ever seen any Hogwarts elf make to the Headmaster, the elf had stated in a tone of voice that brooked no disagreement, "Brolly is to bring the Headmaster _now_."

Albus, being Albus, on the other hand, had disagreed, although he'd disagreed with a genial smile on his weathered face. "I'm afraid that whatever it is will have to wait a bit. I'm rather busy at the moment, my dear fellow."

Albus, Miranda noted, was using that maddeningly calm and cheerful voice of his. The one that made you want to strangle him because you were panicking and he wasn't taking your panic with the seriousness it so richly deserved. She also noted that elves seemed no fonder of that tone than anyone else, if the ears twitching in agitation in front of her were any indication.

"Master of Hogwarts will come now," the elf repeated, a somewhat stubborn cast to his upraised chin.

Albus, in his own inimitable fashion, blithely went his own way and ignored the elf's increasing agitation. "Perhaps you could tell me your name and we can discuss where it is you wish me to go?"

Miranda watched as one elfin ear gave a rather jerky flap in response. She had not spent a lot of time with the house-elves. She called on her own Hogwarts' elf, Rilla, very seldom and rarely saw the elf, but she had a vague sense that this wasn't good.

"Miss said, 'Now'!"

That raised an eyebrow. Forceful house-elves . . . definitely not good.

She'd really no more completed the thought than her hand was seized by a surprisingly strong grip and she found herself, the headmaster, and the elf suddenly in the foyer of a strange house facing a rather pale and stricken-looking Hermione who was sitting at the bottom of a set of stairs.

"Professor Dumbledore," Miss Granger exclaimed, in what looked to be obvious relief before adding, "A-and Professor Vector," in something more resembling confusion.

Confusion was rather good. Miranda was feeling a mite confused herself. Still feeling the shock of being forcibly removed from Albus' kitchen table to _wherever_ they currently were, Miranda still had the presence of mind to note that before disappearing, the elf that had abducted them had bowed quite low in obvious respect to Miss Granger.

In the words of a great Muggle mathematician who, as far as Miranda was concerned, should have been born a wizard . . . curiousier and curiousier.

* * *

As she walked out of St. Mungo's beside Healer Alverez, Hermione couldn't help but wonder about the fate that awaited her back at the Black house.

_Will Dumbledore let me explain first before he hexes me? Or is he the type to cast spells and ask questions later? Maybe Dumbledore will be gone when we get back. Of course, if he is gone, it's probably because he's out somewhere, looking for me. He'd just be angrier when he returned._

Healer Alverez waved to Edelrod as they passed the front desk and mentioned she was making a house call. Hermione absently waved a good-bye at the scowling witch.

_Best that he's still there then . . . but would the other Order members still be there? It has only been . . oh, God, an hour has passed. Is Snape even still alive?_

She quickened her pace toward the doors and she was grateful when Alverez kept pace right along side of her, her Healer's bag swinging sharply in time to their steps.

_Still raining, _she thought, as they passed through the doors_, although the thunder and lightning seem to have stopped_.

"Miss Granger?"

Jolted out of her thoughts, Hermione turned to the Healer who was currently looking at her with a mixture of concern and amusement.

"You are looking a little nervous. Are you up to this?"

_Am I? Guess we will soon find out._ Giving what she hoped was a decisive nod, she led Healer Alverez around to the side of the building where they wouldn't be observed. Linking hands with the other witch, Hermione gave her what she hoped was a confident smile, rotated them a quarter turn and Apparated.

Somewhat to her surprise the two of them appeared, whole and hearty, under the old elm tree in the sad little square in front of Grimmauld Place.

_I did it!_

Granted, they had been about four inches off the ground when they appeared so the landing was a little shaky, but as the Muggle pilots say: Any landing you can walk away from . . . .

"You did it, my dear. Quite well done."

Hermione cast the Healer a beaming smile that quickly dropped from her face as she caught sight of the row of houses behind Alverez's shoulder. It was time to face the music.

If the other witch caught the worried look that suddenly appeared on Hermione's face, she didn't say anything, which Hermione was particularly thankful for. She wasn't sure if words of encouragement would be a good or a bad thing at this moment.

"Right then," the witch began. "Just remember to keep your wrist stiff when you perform the _Somnambul Charm_." Alverez took a quick look around, obviously noting the Muggle residential neighbourhood around them. "I'd also suggest a good cloaking spell since you are going to have to Levitate me to wherever we are going. Oh, almost forgot, you'll have to carry this," she said, handing Hermione her bag. "Medicinal potions don't typically mix well with random bits of magic. Best you hold on to it."

As Hermione stood a moment, Alverez gave her a warm smile. "Well, get on with girl, we've got a Potions professor to save."

Not feeling quite as confident as Healer Alverez, Hermione raised her wand and pronounced, "_Somnambul_," remembering to keep her wrist stiff during the movements.

Once the Healer was safely unconscious, Hermione Disillusioned and _Moblicorpus_-ed her. Heading across the square towards Grimmauld Place, Hermione couldn't help but wonder if this dread in the pit of her stomach was what Professor Snape felt when he went off to meet Voldemort.

* * *

A long time ago, Albus Dumbledore had learned to control his temper. As a young man, he'd noticed how people became afraid when he got angry. It certainly wasn't hard to make the connection between his anger and things around him blowing up, melting or simply disintegrating into dust. It was really about that time that he'd understood that by some trick of Fate, he was stronger magically than any other witch or wizard around him. And when he indulged in anger, people were afraid. Truth be told, there were days back then when Albus was rather afraid of himself and what he could do.

It was that fear that led to him to create the eccentric wizard persona that allowed him to shrug off those things that would have a lesser wizard pulling his wand and issuing dual challenges. The persona had grown with him over the years, from eccentric young man to dotty old man, and it had served him well.

Grindelwald had certainly been completely fooled and thoroughly surprised when with his dying breath he'd realised that the slightly crazy man who'd offered him tea and biscuits had just ended what should have been an unstoppable rise to world domination.

Simply put, Albus Dumbledore rarely lost his temper. And on those rare occasions when he did, it never lasted long.

At the moment, Albus Dumbledore was absolutely furious and had been for a good hour.

In response to that anger, Albus' usual impeccable control of his magic was weakening. Any witch, wizard, or magical creature with even a jot of magical sensitivity could feel the aura building about Dumbledore. In response, the Order members who had crowded into Grimmauld Place at hearing about Snape's return had quickly fled to safer environs.

He kept hearing Miss Granger's words: _Then I'm making my choice. _The infuriating part was that he had no idea where she had gone or what she was doing. He could have attempted to follow her, of course, but he needed to remain here. Half a dozen various scenarios had run through his head within moments of her disappearance, each more catastrophic than the last. If Voldemort got hold of her, Albus knew Harry would abandon everything in his attempts to get the girl back. They were facing a potential disaster.

_Damn it all to hell and back again_. They were finally ahead of Tom in this blasted war. The end was coming soon, and the girl had gone off on a lark.

He paced around the narrow foyer, his agitation needing some kind of outlet. He might have expected this kind of reckless behaviour from Harry or even from Ron Weasley, but he'd always considered Miss Granger to have a firmer head on her shoulders.

_Where is that girl?_

As if his mental shout had conjured her, the front door opened to admit a bedraggled Hermione Granger, her wand raised and focussed behind her. Harnessing his own magic, Albus concentrated and made out the wavering form of a Disillusioned body.

Merlin preserve them all. The girl had figured out the Fidelius' blind spot and was bringing a stranger into the house.

* * *

Hermione froze when she saw Dumbledore standing in the foyer, looking for all the world like the epitome of a wrathful wizard. Swallowing around the lump in her throat, she took the last few steps into the house being careful to set Healer Alverez down as gently as she could. Unfortunately, her attention slipped from the door, which was caught by the still-gusting wind, causing it to swing shut with a reverberating slam.

Several things happened then: Mrs Black roared into a full Mudblood-and-traitors tirade, Dumbledore's expression seemed to darken even further, and everyone who'd been hiding from Albus in the library came spilling out into the foyer to find out what had caused the noise.

Caught like the proverbial deer in headlights by a dozen pairs of eyes, all Hermione could think was: _Bloody, blooming hell_.

Professor Dumbledore was still frowning at her, his brushy brows drawn down almost to a point over his nose.

"Go to the library."

When Hermione hesitated, looking down at the still Disillusioned Healer, Dumbledore spoke again. "Now, Miss Granger. I will take care of your _guest_."

Hermione was a little worried about the way in which Dumbledore stressed the word guest, but she decided that now probably wasn't the right time to argue. Shoulders slumped in a mixture of dread and exhaustion she walked down the hallway towards those still gathered outside the library door. Feeling very much like she was being weighed and judged, she tried to catch Ron's and Harry's eyes, looking for support. The confusion and upset in both of their faces made her hang her head a little lower.

Once in the library, Hermione headed for her favourite chair by the fireplace. Taking her seat, she waited for the first question and was a bit unnerved at the silence around her. Glancing up through curls made even wilder and frizzier by the rain, Hermione noted that everyone had taken seats around the room facing her.

Ron and Harry were carrying on a whispered conversation from the windowseat that involved repeated looks in her direction. Ginny was staring at her with her head cocked to one side. With her red hair, she reminded Hermione of an Irish Setter, but the mental image brought forth no sense of mirth.

Fred and George had taken seats on the floor where they could lean up against one of the bookcases and both were watching her with an avid interest, as if she were going to sprout horns at any moment and they wanted to make sure that they didn't miss it.

Like Harry and Ron, Tonks and Remus were carrying on a whispered conversation from the threadbare couch they were sharing with Mr and Mrs Weasley.

Moody had both real and magical eyes focussed on her. It was a rather disconcerting feeling.

Professor Vector . . . then she remembered that Vector had arrived with Professor Dumbledore. She'd been surprised at the time, but it had slipped her mind during the ensuring chaos. Oddly enough, Professor Vector was staring at her, too. At least it wasn't with the same look of confusion and disappointment as from the others, but her intense regard, a look that the Arithmancy Mistress usually reserved for complex equations, rather unnerved Hermione.

Fidgeting, she crossed and uncrossed her legs and glanced around the room again. Harry and Ron's whispered conversation took on a more heated air with Harry gesturing fiercely in her direction.

_What was the old saying about no good deed going unpunished?_

She wondered what was keeping Dumbledore. It was obvious that the headmaster had seen through the Disillusionment spell, otherwise he'd have never mentioned her 'guest.' Harry had mentioned that Dumbledore had that talent. Briefly she wondered if that was an affect of his age or his magical strength, before dismissing the thought as not really relevant to the situation at hand.

She crossed and uncrossed her legs again and then tucked a wayward curl behind her left ear. Remus and Tonks had finished their conversation and now both were watching her.

She sighed. _What was taking so long?_ It wasn't like Dumbledore didn't know the _Somnambul Charm _since it was the same charm he'd used on her during the underwater portion of the Triwizard Tournament. He should have been able to remove it easily. _Did I do the charm wrong? Is he having problems lifting it? Surely I didn't mess it up. It was one of the sleeps I studied when I was doing all the research on all the various sleeping spells for Professor Snape. I'm sure I got it. I think._

She crossed her legs again, swinging her foot rapidly back and forth.

_This is ridiculous. Someone needs to say something_.

Her right hand index finger started a nervous tapping in counterpoint to her swinging leg. _Fine. I'll say something._

"I –"

Hermione stopped at the sound of raised voices coming through the door.

She could truthfully say that she'd never heard the headmaster yell, but there was no mistaking that it was his voice raised in anger.

At the unmistakable sounds of an unknown woman's voice, everyone in the room was on their feet with wands drawn. Hermione noticed that Moody's magical eye was now rotated so that he was looking through the far wall and into the foyer beyond.

Fearing that they might charge into the hall with wands blazing, Hermione spoke up. "It's all right. I went to St. Mungo's for a Healer. Her name is Healer Alverez, and she's here to help Professor Snape."

"Fool girl," Moody ground out, right before Albus' distant voice rose loudly enough for everyone to now hear the shouted words clearly.

"I am most certainly not being unreasonable in this. While I appreciate your willingness to exercise your talents in this matter, you will NOT be staying. Miss Granger wilfully disregarded her safety and the safety of all those fighting against Tom by pulling this stunt."

"Oh, give it a rest, Albus. The girl did what you were too scared to do. You need a few new opinions around here anyway. Inbreeding, Albus – bad for bloodlines and mysterious underground Orders."

_Albus? Healer Alverez was calling the headmaster Albus? Does that mean that they know each other?_ Any further musings on that subject was cut off as the library door opened, the two verbal combatants striding through, only to confront each other again as they crossed the threshold.

"This does not concern you, Arrosa."

_They do know each other_, she thought.

"I beg to differ," Healer Alverez snapped out. "This does concern me. It concerns the whole of the wizarding world and you are no better than the Ministry with your games and lies and secret Orders." She made a noise of derision. "Let me guess, you've even got a secret handshake."

At that comment, Hermione noticed that the George, or Fred, one of the two, let out an almost silent "Oooh," of awe at the Healer's words, although, whether at the idea of a secret handshake or the very audacity of her comment, Hermione wasn't sure.

The slight noise was enough though to bring the headmaster back to his senses with an almost visible snap. He glowered around the room at the silent audience before turning the full force of his glare back on Alverez.

Hermione noted that Alverez didn't even cringe at that heated stare.

When the headmaster finally spoke, his tone was much more controlled, although the anger was still easily heard. Hermione just wasn't sure at this point if the anger was still directed at her or at Healer Alverez.

"We are getting off track. Miss Granger brought you here to check on Severus. I took you upstairs and you've looked at him. How is he?"

Healer Alverez threw up her hands in exasperation. "Eh, so now you ask?"

Dumbledore, however, was managing to keep hold of his temper, but it was a close thing, in Hermione's estimation. "Arrosa. . ." he ground out, his voice low.

Alverez pressed her lips together and let out a breath through her nose before answering. "He was hurt very badly. I stabilised him for the moment, not," she sniped, "that you let me have a whole lot of time with him. He will require extensive healing. That curse left a lot of damage along his nerves and especially along the magical pathways. However, his condition is considerably worsened by old injuries, magical and non-magical. He's going to be weak and in considerable pain for several weeks. Personally, I'd be surprised if he was up and functioning one hundred percent before the new term begins."

At her words, Hermione noticed that the anger seemed to drain out of the headmaster.

"That bad?"

The Healer's face twisted. "Yes, that bad." She gave a derisive snort, but it too lacked the heat of their early argument. "You have no idea the shape he's in, do you? Let me guess, he's been telling you he's fine all this time and you just agree with him because it's convenient."

"That is enough, Arrosa."

She shook her head, grey curls bouncing around her head. "Actually, I don't think it's near enough. It's about time that someone told you the truth about how things _really_ are." She flung out a hand to encompass the room. "It certain that this lot won't tell you what they really think. They're all too bloody in awe of you. Your Miss Granger quite probably saved the man's life."

Hermione winced at hearing her name brought up in the conversation again. While Healer Alverez seemed immune to Professor Dumbledore's anger, she wasn't.

"Miss Granger has disregarded the rules. She has acted in an impulsive and completely thoughtless manner that could have seriously endangered both herself and the Order."

"Hoist by your own petard, eh, Albus? You're angry with the girl for acting like the Gryffindor she is? If that is the case, Albus Dumbledore, you should have populated your merry band with a few more Houses. Asclepius, help! If Severus is the only Slytherin amongst you lot, it's a wonder he's not gone mad."

"The identities of those who make up the Order are of no consequence to you," Albus said, rather stiffly.

Alverez laughed then. "Merlin's balls! He is, isn't he," she said, more statement than question. "So much for inter-House alliance. You're a fraud, Albus."

Dumbledore drew himself up to his full height and it looked like the shouting match was about to begin again, when Remus Lupin interrupted with a quiet voice question. "Albus, who is this woman?"

Alverez, in what Hermione was quickly realising was her style, answered for herself. "Healer Arrosa Alverez, Head of the Spell Damage Ward at St. Mungo's." She took a quick look around the room at the people gathered there. "Moody," she nodded in the direction of the ex-Auror. "Good to see that arm is still attached."

From the grins of delight on the Weasley twins' faces, Hermione guessed that they also knew the Healer. But then again, considering how many things they typically blew up with their 'pranks,' they were probably on a first name basis with all the Healers in the Spell Damage Ward at St. Mungo's.

"So," Moody said, "Snape's in a bad way and goin' to need looking after. That right?"

"That is correct, Mr. Moody."

"Sure as bloody hell none of the rest of us wants to play nurse-maid to Snape. The girl can't be trusted out of anyone's sight and she should be barred from further proceedings. She put herself into this position for that bastard. Let her take care of him."

"Alastor is correct. Whether warranted or not, Miss Granger acted without authority in bringing you to this place and as such must face the consequences of her actions."

It was on the tip of Hermione's tongue to protest and leap to Professor Snape's defence. _Of course, that was what a Gryfindor would do,_ the inner voice that sounded suspiciously like Snape's pointed out. Then again, this lot would never expect Slytherin word games and cunning from her.

She sent a silent apology to Snape before letting her face twist into a semblance of the same repugnance that was showing on Ron and Harry's.

Looking frantically around the room, she said, "You can't mean for me to take care of him. I just didn't want him to die. If I have to take care of him, I'd have to be with him for hours. It would be like a whole day of Potions class." She added a bit of desperate whinge to her voice. "He hates me!"

"Miss Granger, by your own actions and disregard for the rules of the Order, I have no choice but to enact a punishment upon you. As you have shown that you are not the adult I had given you credit for being. For the rest of the summer I am revoking your access to Order meetings. You will no longer be privy to our discussions, nor take part in strategy meetings." Dumbledore sent a quelling glance around the room. "Misters Potter and Weasley, as well as Miss Weasley, will also be sworn to discuss nothing with you."

Hermione hung her head, more in embarrassment than real shame. Even given this punishment, she'd do it all again in a heartbeat.

"Look at me, Miss Granger."

Hermione lifted her head to meet the Headmaster's eyes – now more the colour of flinty steel than their usual soft twinkling blue. "I've also decided that Alastor's suggestion is not without merit. You will take down Arrosa's instructions on what Severus will need for his coming recovery. You are henceforth at his beck and call and will serve those tasks that are typically performed by the house-elves, as the elves here at the Black house have other duties they are performing."

Hermione dropped her head before Professor Dumbledore could read the triumph in her eyes. She lowered her voice, mimicking Harry at his most uncooperative and sullen as she intoned, "Yes, sir."

"Miss Granger, please take Healer Alverez upstairs to Professor Snape's room. Arrosa will need time to complete her healing. I will be along momentarily to discuss what we will do about this breach in our security."

Alverez, lips compressed tightly in anger, said stiffly, "Come on," before she headed out of the library.

Hermione followed meekly behind until she practically ran into Healer Alverez's back when the witch stopped unexpectedly in the hallway. Hermione was completely shocked when the Healer stuck a finger under her chin and raised Hermione's face up to the light. Alverez stared solemnly at her for a few tense seconds before she gave a short bark of laughter.

"I knew it. I can see it in your eyes. The old goat's underestimated you -- Slytherin cunning in a Gryffindor girl. You, my dear, are going to go far."

Hermione started to protest but Alverez waved her off. "Don't bother. I've got the lay of you. Now, come along and I'll explain what Severus is likely to need until he wakes up and what can be done for him afterwards to speed up his recovery."

* * *

Miranda had sat back and watched the entire drama unfold, her eyes swinging back and forth between the combatants. Whoever this Healer was, she had been good. As far as Miranda knew, only Severus had ever been able to wind Albus up into a good fit of madness. This woman though, she had had the old man practically frothing. It was . . . awe inspiring. Miranda felt rather sorry for Snape that he had missing it.

* * *

**End Chapter 21.**

Okay, I know nekkid Severus should have been there but the argument lasted longer than I thought it would. Snape rehabilitation will start next chapter.

And no whinging from you guys about this chapter being short – nine pages of Arial 10 pt. is not short.


	22. Chapter 22

To all the readers of Pet Project.

First off, take a deep breath. Don't panic.

Secondly, since FFN frowns on authors using these spaces for "notes," I've included a snippet/drabble from the upcoming chapter.

I have been urged by several readers to leave you guys this note. I have been sort of derailed by life in general and the hype surrounding the coming out of Book 7. Now that the book is out and certain things have come to pass -- things that as Snape fans we won't speak about -- I realize that some of you may have a few fears that I'll abandon Pet Project.

Have no fear. I have had this story outlined from beginning to end since the day I put the first word down. I admit that when I started writing, I had no idea that I would still be working on this story two years and two books later. But if you, the readers, are willing to continue to read, then I'm willing to continue to write. Keep your fingers crossed and the new chapter might be to the betas by the end of the week.

And Hailey – I would never be so rude as to just brush off one of my readers. You guys have been incredibly loyal to me throughout this whole writing experience. You comments are always carefully considered. In fact, the comment you left actually prompted me to leave this here because you didn't leave me an email addy to respond to you directly.

-Caeria

* * *

"Ears are flapping." 

Hermione switched her attention from the still comatose Snape to Rink. She was getting rather used to some of the odder things that Rink would say. She also felt herself to be rather good at translating elf-speak into the Queen's English. This one though had her stumped.

"Ears are flapping?" she repeated back.

Rink, his face particularly serious, nodded decisively, causing his own rather large ears to flap forward.

Hermione hid a smile behind a feigned cough and raised hand. She wouldn't want to hurt Rink's feelings. Getting control of her grin, she asked as nonchalantly as possible, "So, what are earls flapping about?"

"Elves are very impressed with Hermy."

Hermione let out a rueful laugh. Everyone else in the house was treating her like she was some kind of pariah -- actually they were treating her rather like they treated Snape. And now the house-elves, who wouldn't even get close to her a year ago, were now proud of her for acting like an elf and serving Snape.

_Good Lord, when did my life get so odd?_

_

* * *

_

End of Snippet


	23. Ch 22: Awakenings

Author's Note 1: Semi-naked Snape aside, after the high adventure and rollercoaster emotions of the last two chapters, this one is going to be kind of dull. You have been warned.w

Authoris Note 2: This has only gone through one of my betas. Once the second beta comes back with her changes I'll make those updates. In the meantime, all you eager eyed readers are more than welcome to send me any mistakes. I promise not to cry.

* * *

**Chapter 22: Awakenings**

Hermione walked with Healer Alverez up the stairs and towards Professor Snape's room, her thoughts in a whirl. Between lack of sleep, finding Snape, the mad, adrenaline-fueled dash to get the Healer, then the stomach-churning ordeal of facing Ron, Harry and the Order . . . she was wiped out and running on the last wisps of her reserves.

Again, she had to wonder if this was what Professor Snape felt all the time, between teaching and spying and running between Dumbledore and Voldemort. _And silly girls who pestered him for his time_ she added, recognizing that she was just one more burden on his already full plate. It really was a wonder the man wasn't more foul tempered than he was. She shook her head in disbelief at her own thoughts – justifying Snape's less noble habits – she really was tired.

But even her body-numbing tiredness didn't quite dispel the twist of worry that sat hard and tight up under her ribs. Once Dumbledore had finished his spells on Professor Snape to remove Voldemort's lingering curses, she'd not been allowed back upstairs to see the professor. This would be her first glimpse of the man since she'd found him crumpled, drenched, and bloodied on the doorstep.

Feet pacing steadily up each step, she tried to tell herself she was being silly. Snape was going to get better. Alverez was here and had already done a round of healing. Hermione had been assigned to take care of Professor Snape while he was recovering. Rink was even here and would be taking care of Snape as well. Regardless of her _punishment_ from the Order, she knew that she'd never get the elf to not do his bit to care for Professor Snape. Rink had, after all, shown that he took his job as Snape's personal house-elf very seriously. She should have been jubilant. It couldn't have turned out better if she'd planned the whole thing.

Maybe that was her problem, she considered, as they turned the last landing and headed down the long dark hallway that housed the various bedrooms. Hermione was a planner. She liked when things were nicely laid out from A to Z. But this . . . this was random luck and seat-of-the-pants flying. She was just reacting to events as they happened. It was all out of control and she was just being tossed along in the wake of the chaos.

Then they were there, and she was stumbling over the warped floorboard right inside of the room where Rink had placed Snape.

"Oh," she said faintly as she came to an abrupt halt, eyes riveted on the man lying on the narrow bed.

Once through the door, Healer Alverez took control once again; an irony, given Hermione's earlier thoughts, that wasn't lost on her. But Hermione was tired and let herself be pulled along as Alverez snapped her fingers at her impatiently. "Don't fall apart on me yet. He's actually not as bad as he looks."

Hermione didn't see how that was possible. Snape looked like he was already dead. A dingy yellow sheet that Hermione suspected had once been white was pulled up to just below Snape's shoulders. It draped over him like a shroud and gave his already shallow skin tone an even sicklier look, as if he was one of Madame Tussaud's wax mannequins.

She shuddered. _Out of control. _

Bruises that before had just begun to make their presence known were now fully developed with splashes of purple, green and yellow along his face and jaw. One particularly vivid set of deep purple-red marks centered on what she could see of his right shoulder, the edges of the bruise extending down beneath the sheet.

"Hermione?"

Hermione pulled her attention away from Snape, focusing on the solid presence of the Healer. Setting her shoulders, Hermione raised her chin. "What do I need to do?"

Alverez gave her a warm smile. "Good girl," she said with an approving nod.

Hermione let the Healer's instructions wash over her; one part of her mind memorizing the instructions, noting the dosages and timing of the potions and wand movements. The rest of her was quietly having a nervous breakdown. She'd just misled the Order. She'd hoodwinked her friends. She'd manipulated Dumbledore without a twinge of guilt.

For Snape.

_Completely out of control. _

_

* * *

_

"She needs to be here!"

"Miranda," Albus began, trying for a calm, reasonable tone. It was as far as he got before being interrupted.

"We've been through this. You've seen the matrix. You've seen the formulas."

Albus suppressed the urge to sigh. Everything was breaking down. All his careful plans and intricate strategies; he felt as if everything was starting to spin out of control. And last night, even the dependable and normally respectful Miss Granger had defied him. It was a feeling that Albus didn't particularly care for. To much rested on these plans and these people. If even one part should fail . . . he hesitated to even contemplate the horror and loss that would result if Riddle won.

He lowered his voice, dropping it into the wise old wizard routine, hoping that Miranda would follow his lead on this. "I understand how you feel," he said. "Hermione is important, but she has been barred--"

Miranda snorted. "I don't care, Albus. And she's not just important; I'm telling you, she is critical."

His grasp on his temper slipped a little. "Harry is critical. Harry is the center of the prophecy. It was not Miss Granger who faced Tom over the Philosopher's Stone, or faced the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets or stood in the Tri-Wizard tournament. It was Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone and the Chamber of Secrets and –"

Miranda threw up her hands, frustration evident in the tense lines of her body. "Albus, I get it!" She paced around the room before turning back towards the headmaster. "I get it," she repeated. "I also _get_ that you're angry with her. She's flaunted your authority, gone behind your back and threatened everything we have worked for." Miranda flashed him a tight smile. "I get that she brought _that witch _– and there was no need to name names – into the Order. I even get that you're angry with me for arguing with you about this. But Hermione is important. Maybe it wasn't Hermione Granger and the Philosopher's Stone, but she has been there every time that Harry has faced _him_. She has been part of the reason for Mr. Potter's success. To leave her out of this . . . it endangers everything. And no, I can't tell you how or why or when. But trust me Albus, as you have trusted in everything else that I've done for you, she is _important_."

Albus let his shoulders slump. "You're sure?" he asked, more out of formality than anything else.

"As sure as math and Arthimancy can be. Albus, you've seen the probabilities. You've seen how her line intersects with Severus'. Merlin above, Albus, you have practically guaranteed that their lines are interacting."

"I did nothing of the sort. You told me that their intersection has already happened. Miss Granger's punishment of taking care of Severus now could hardly affect something that has already come to pass."

"Happened, yes, but you've ensured that she will continue to interact with him." Shrewd eyes narrowed at a sudden suspicion. "Albus Dumbledore . . ."

"Stop whatever it is you are thinking. I did not force the interaction," he said, cutting her off before she could go further in her accusation. "I freely admit that there is much I engineer, as you are well aware since your arthimantical equations are most often the basis for those plans. But I assure you, in this case, it is simply fate. Miss Granger needed a suitable punishment, and it is true that few in the Order would care to tend to Severus. Their distrust of him is to ingrained at this point."

Miranda stopped in surprise. Albus noted it wasn't long before a small piece of chalk materialized from one of Miranda's pockets, the piece rolling rapidly between her fingers. Already he could see her mind turning; could almost see her calculating variables in her head.

"You think," she began slowly, obviously thinking out loud, "that is why Miss Granger and Severus were fated to cross. It always did seem like an odd pairing when I first mapped the equations. But it makes sense if you look at it from that standpoint, doesn't it. She had to have prior interactions with him in order to want to help him the way she did, and Severus will hopefully _tolerate_ her help in his care based on their prior school contact."

"It is the only explanation that makes sense of both your data and the facts."

Miranda considered for a moment before shaking her head. "And yet . . . I don't know. Something seems off about that explanation. Although I can't quite put my finger on what is off."

"You have another explanation to fit the circumstances? It explains your matrix."

"No, no other explanation. And it is as good as any I suppose, since it has already come to pass."

Albus gave a small satisfied smile. "Then she had served the purpose outlined in your matrix."

Miranda made a face at him, her nose scrunched up. "Good try, but no, Albus. Miss Granger still needs to be there."

He sighed then in defeat. An occurrence, he reflected, that had been happening with surprising regularity lately. "Very well. I will call an Order meeting so you can present your findings." He frowned slightly, before adding, "And I'll include Miss Granger."

Standing, Albus smoothed down his robes, straightening the fabric so that the twinkling stars around the hem were straight. He was rather proud of that bit of sartorial charm work. "We will meet tomorrow evening." Then bowing slightly, he headed out.

As Albus left the study, Miranda sank down wearily into one of the threadbare armchairs. She hated arguing with the Headmaster, but Albus was being particularly recalcitrant when it came to Miss Granger, for reasons that Miranda had yet to fathom. But that was a pondering that she was going to have to leave to another day. Now she had to focus on presenting her findings to the Order.

Truthfully, Miranda had felt a bit lost over the last day. She'd originally been prepared to meet the Order, had even expected that her appearance and her knowledge would cause a bit of a stir with the members. She would be, after all, a complete surprise to them. She'd been prepared to deal with that surprise and even a few feelings of resentment at her inclusion. But she had fully expected to win over any doubters after showing them the probabilities matrix she'd created.

Without a doubt though, she'd been the one surprised from the moment that the house-elf had brought her and Albus to this dreary old house. In the ensuring drama of Snape, Hermione and Healer Alverez, Miranda had been practically shoved into a corner and left to stay there.

A more contrary soul – _like Snape_ – Miranda thought with a crooked grin, would have pitched a fit at her treatment, if he'd even have allowed himself to be put into the position in the first place. Miranda however was an observer at heart. It was one of the things that made her a good Arthimancer – in order to create the most accurate equations; she had to be able to fill in the variables.

What she had observed in the last couple of days made her fingers itch to get equations down on a blackboard. The Order of the Phoenix was in chaos – chaos that centered on Hermione Granger and Severus Snape. The Headmaster might believe that Miss Granger's nexus point was past, but Miranda would bet her wand that it wasn't. She could practically see the probabilities lines forming and shifting around her.

Everything might have been spinning out of control, but Miranda was about to map it all down and bring her own special version of order.

* * *

Grimmauld Place was, despite the old house's dreariness and the ever-unpleasant portrait of Mrs Black, rather relaxing for Ron. Granted, there were things he'd much rather be doing if circumstances were different, but if he was going to be cooped up in a drafty old house, at least his best mates were stuck there with him. Sometimes, he even wondered how things might have been different if he hadn't met Harry and Hermione on the train that first year. But he never pondered the what-ifs for long. That was more of a Hermione thing.

Nudging his broom to hover more to the left, he gazed up at the lighted window of Snape's room. Hermione was in there now taking care of the greasy bat while the rest of them were out here the in the overgrown, weed-infested gardens behind Grimmauld Place, playing a modified version of Quidditch that they'd developed. He knew Hermione would have hated this game with the restrictions of flying below the nine foot high garden wall and goals made when the Quaffle was batted into the hollow of the enormous oak tree that dominated the far corner of the yard.

But, now, it was all spinning out of control.

Not that Ron had ever really thought that he was _in_ control, but nothing was going the way he'd thought things would go.

His best mate was stilling acting barmy.

He'd been made a full member of the order of the Order of the Phoenix just in time to have the entire Order thrown into utter chaos.

Dumbledore was getting into public shouting matches with strange witches.

He glanced back up at the light in the window. Merlin help him, but he was even feeling a tad bit sorry for Snape, of all people.

He'd been made Head Boy.

And Hermione . . . Hermione had gone stark raving mad.

Hermione. _When had she gone out of control? _He rather expected it of Harry nowadays, but Hermione was still a mystery to him.

Leaning forward so his elbow could rest on his broom, Ron cut a sideways glance at Harry, who was hovering at his side. "Maybe Snape slipped her a potion."

Beside him Harry made a non-committal grunting noise.

"Okay, fine, so he didn't slip her a potion. But it doesn't make any sense. She's not making any sense."

The Firebolt abruptly descended towards the ground until Harry once again stood on Terra Firma. "I'm going to my room," he said, his voice flat, the look in his eyes cold and distant.

Ron watched Harry leave and felt something very like panic take root in his chest.

* * *

Hermione had just finished giving Snape one of his pain potions when she heard the door open behind her. Thinking it was only Rink, Hermione didn't immediately turn around so was startled when she heard the Headmaster speak.

"How is he this afternoon, Miss Granger?"

Hermione spun around. "Sir!"

Dumbledore entered the room, his attention focused on the man lying in the bed. "Relax, Miss Granger. I just wanted to check on Severus."

Seeing the Headmaster, Hermione was torn in her emotions. On one hand, she was still angry with what she felt was his uncaring attitude towards Professor Snape. On the other hand, even she could not miss the worn expression and slumped shoulders of the old wizard. In the end, anger gave way to compassion, although it went grudgingly and left a bite of sarcasm to her words.

Pulling out the chair she'd been using, Hermione gave Dumbledore a slight smile. "Have a seat, sir. I'm sure Professor Snape would enjoy you sitting with him awhile."

Her bit of rudeness didn't see to faze the headmaster as he settled himself into the chair beside the bed. But then, Dumbledore had been dealing with Professor Snape. Her paltry attempts at sniping were amateurish at best. If anything, her stiff attitude seemed to make the headmaster more at ease, if the slight smile hiding in his beard was any indication.

"Enjoy is such a strong word, Miss Granger, especially when used with Professor Snape. If anything, my dear, if he knew I was sitting vigil at his bedside, he would have all the charm of wet Kneazle." His smile widened. "I daresay that you should share in the experience."

Waving a gnarled hand at the space beside him, another chair appeared. "Please, have a seat, Miss Granger. I would have a word with you as well."

Dumbledore waited until she was settled in the conjured chair before he began speaking again. "I have disappointed you."

Hermione's eyes went wide in shock at the words. Automatic words of protest rose but were halted as Dumbledore raised a hand.

"Don't defend your feelings. You feel as if I should have done more for Professor Snape; cared more, helped him more."

As he spoke, Hermione noticed that Dumbledore did not turn to look at her, but instead kept his eyes focused on Professor Snape's still form. It was an odd way of having a conversation and it made Hermione feel uneasy. It was almost if Dumbledore was more talking aloud to himself that to her.

"To be honest," he continued, "part of me agrees with you. Unfortunately, the rest of me, as well as Severus himself if he could offer his opinion, disagrees."

She didn't know how to answer that, so she said nothing, but waited for Dumbledore to speak again or do something. But he neither spoke nor acted.

"Do you care for him?" she finally asked when the silence grew too thick, all too aware of how presumptuous her question was.

"It must not seem like I do from your vantage point, but if you believe that, you would be most mistaken."

"Then how can you—" she began hotly before she remembered just who she was talking to.

Dumbledore chuckled softly. "Finish your thought, Miss Granger. You were perhaps about to ask, 'Then how can I treat him the way I do?'"

Not trusting herself to speak, Hermione nodded sharply.

"We are at war, Miss Granger. Never doubt that. It isn't a game. People -- Muggle and wizard alike -- are dying between two opposing forces. No one from the Ministry was stepping forward, so I became the general in charge of one side of this war. I would like to see each and every one of those who serve with me against Tom as individuals, but I do not always have the luxury of doing so."

One of Dumbledore's hands reached out and briefly clasped Snape's before withdrawing. "I have asked Severus for much over the years. He has never failed to deliver. I will ask more of him in the future."

Dumbledore finally turned to her and full force of his gaze met hers. "There may come a time when I will ask it of you. You will have to look within yourself, just as Severus has, to determine your answer. What would you give, Miss Granger, to see Tom defeated? What is it worth to you? I protect as much as I can. I guard all of you with every bit of skill and knowledge at my disposal, but that doesn't mean I don't make mistakes. It doesn't mean that those who stand with me are never in harm's way when the need calls for it."

Just as quickly, blue eyes shifted away and Hermione drew in a lungful of air, her heart pounding.

By the time she gathered her scattered wits, Dumbledore was no longer seated beside her, but standing in the doorway.

"There will be a meeting this evening of the Order. Your exclusion from Order proceedings still stands, but an allowance will be made for this one meeting. Please make sure you attend."

"Yes, sir," she answered, but he was already gone.

* * *

Hermione hesitated on the threshold of the library, unsure if she would continue. Professor Dumbledore caught her hesitation. "Come in, Miss Granger."

At his words, most of the other people in the room turned to stare at her. The impressions ranged from a welcoming smile on Professor Vector's face to varying degrees of curiosity to suspicion and outright distain on others.

She recognized each of those looks, as they were usually ones directed at Professor Snape. Ones she herself had been guilty of, on more than one occasion. Feeling the weight of everyone's eyes on her, she fought her urge to curl her lip in a scowl. Instead, back ramrod straight and chin high, she flashed a wide, toothy smile at the room before taking an empty chair next to Remus.

But as she settled herself, smoothing her sweaty palms down her Muggle jeans, she realized something else. It wasn't just Professor Snape who got the looks. It was all of the Slytherins; the looks, the suspicions, the disapproval inherent in every weighted glance. This, Hermione realized, was what it meant when you weren't a favored Gryffindor, when even if you'd done nothing wrong, everyone watched you, sure that you were about to betray everything and everyone.

She scrubbed wearily at her eyes. _No wonder they hate us all,_ she thought.

"What is _she_ doing here?"

"Peace, Alastor," Dumbledore said, his voice shaded with undercurrents of exasperation. "Her punishment has not been lifted, but she is a part of the information that Professor Vector is about to explain. To bar her from this invites a greater danger that I am not willing to ignore."

Dumbledore gestured towards Professor Vector, who stood before the assembled inner circle of the Order of the Phoenix. She cleared her throat. "Many of you have wondered about my sudden presence here these last days, but with – other considerations going on – my purpose had been tabled. Most of you know me as the Arthimancy Professor at Hogwarts. The Headmaster has been asking me to run Arthimancy probability projects since the first day that Mr. Potter entered Hogwarts. Unfortunately, Arthimancy equations are rarely static but grow and change with each additional piece of data placed within the variables. In the beginning, my data was sparse and fragmented as I worked to understand the forces that Mr. Potter interacted with, and which in turn, interacted with him."

She sighed and sent an apologetic smile in Harry's direction. "I believe that if I had better data, I could have helped to prevent a lot of the turmoil that you went through your first and second years. As it was, I was only able to identify the very basics and large probability intersections affecting the timelines: your need of your father's cloak early in your first year, the opening of the Chamber and your eventual need for Gryffindor's sword. The equations were simply too complex and while a good Arthimancer can give you instances and probabilities, even the best of us can not predict the future with less than full data."

Vector pulled her wand from within her sleeve and gave a complicated wave. Beside her in mid-air appeared a complicated tangle of multi-colored lines. As it rotated slowly in its central axis, the tangle resolved itself into what was possibly one of the most complicated, time-centric, arthimantical output representations Hermione had ever seen.

"Looks like a plate of mum's spaghetti," Ron whispered in an aside to Harry, though the remark carried easily to the rest of the room.

Hermione's first impulse was to chastise Ron and launch into an explanation of representational arthimantic equations but she clamped her teeth down on the words that wanted to spill forth. No one here was interested in her words. As a reminder to herself to keep quiet, she fell back on the habit she'd engendered during the past school year and firmly tucked her hands beneath her thighs.

Professor Vector raised a brow. "Yes, Mr Weasley, I suppose it rather does look like a plate of spaghetti."

Ron flushed pink as he realized that everyone in the room had heard his comment.

"However," Vector continued, "if you'd taken my class, you might know what it represents, although I can assure you it isn't dinner."

A low-voiced ripple of amusement went around the room, as the flush on Ron's face deepened and spread up to his ears. "Sorry, Professor."

Vector nodded and, flourishing her wand, caused the model of multi-colored lines to spin on its axis. "Arthimancy," she began, falling into the tone she used during class lectures, "combines history, sociology, mathematical statistics and interpretational and divinational magic represented as arthimantic equations to create a nearly exact science that is used to discover probability outcomes. It is used most often in interdisciplinary applications. In its simplest forms, it can be used to create new charms or hexes, or be used in potion making to determine how to alter current potion formulas or create new ones."

Vector paused as she glanced around the room. Hermione knew from being in Vector's class that the professor was checking to make sure that everyone was following her explanation. Apparently satisfied, Vector continued her lecture.

"As in any discipline, there are multiple branches of study. One of the most esoteric for Arthimancy is used as a means of divination and can be used, by an expert practitioner, to predict the course of actions of individuals and groups. This is, of course, not be confused with the Muggle science called psychohistory which, while it too utilizes history and sociology and mathematical statistics, can only be used to plot the moves of very large groups of people. It is the addition of magic that allows for the more precise control of Arthimancy."

"And this has to do what us how?" Moody interrupted from his place in the back of the room.

"It has to do with you, because I've been creating arthimantic formulas for the Order as a whole, for certain individuals, for the Death Eaters and for You-Know-Who." Using her wand, Vector pointed to several individual lines within the matrix causing them to light up. Then she pointed to one area where the glowing lines crossed. "Each line represents a calculation which takes into account an enormous amount of data and probabilities and is graphically represented. Each crossing point is what is known as a nexus point. It is the point of confluence – of change. It represents major turning points."

Vector stopped and let the room take another look at the spaghetti tangle. She raised her wand again and pointed to a nexus where the lines crossed so thickly that the individual colors of the lines could no longer be determined. "This, based on my calculations, is when the Order of the Phoenix will meet the forces of You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters in what will be a last and final conflict."

Her gaze swept around the room again. "By my calculations, we have ten months before that confrontation – a circumstance which has changed recently and whose date has accelerated."

* * *

It took two full days for Hermione to regain her equilibrium. Between her conversation with Dumbledore, which still gave her shivers when she thought about it, to the revelations made by Professor Vector, Hermione's thoughts were in a whirl. Arthimancy was her favorite subject in school. She'd more than once thought about focusing her studies in that direction and to that end, she'd done extensive reading about Arthimancy on her own time. That extra reading gave her a view of Professor Vector's work that she was fairly sure the others didn't see.

The most disturbing aspect was that _she_ was represented. It was one thing to understand that Arthimancy could predict probabilities. It was another to see that prediction in spinning technicolor – to see the mapping of her life and more problematic, at least to her, the mapping of Professor Snape.

She'd thought it had been random. She'd thought that meeting with Professor Snape was simple cause and effect. It wasn't. Her probability line and Snape's were crossed now and continued forward together paralleling each other until that awful tangle that Vector had dubbed 'the final battle'. She didn't know what that meant and it scared her.

Up until now she could continue in her belief that Snape was just a project. Yes, she liked him. He was challenging in ways that stretched her mind, but it didn't really mean anything. She was just being nice to him when others didn't. But it was more than that. It was . . . well, she didn't know exactly what it was. Right now it was caregiver and patient. When he was better they would return to the roles of mentor and student. At least she thought they would. The matrix seemed to bear that out.

What really worried her though was that her line, the line of Hermione Granger, didn't seem to continue forward with those representing Ron and Harry. It crossed their in certain points, often time with Professor Snape's line beside her own. She could only hope that that meant that she and Professor Snape would be able to save Harry from whatever path of destruction he was currently on. But it was obvious to her eyes that she was no longer together with them – woven around them, intersecting them, going in the same direction – yes, but not _with_ them.

She thought that was something she could handle; something she could deal with. It was obvious that her interactions with Snape, the tying of her line probability with Snape's was important. She'd made a decision in regard to Professor Snape months ago and she thought she'd accepted the consequences until she run into Harry and Ron in the library.

"How could you, Hermione?" Harry hissed through gritted teeth. "What were you thinking?"

"How could I?" she repeated, brows climbing upwards in complete disbelief. "That's right rich coming from you, Harry. How many times have you gone off on your own with half a thought in your head and no consideration for the consequences? At least I admit it. I was reckless and stupid and I wasn't thinking and I'll take my punishment, but don't you dare lecture me, Harry Potter, about hair-brained schemes. I did what I did to try to save a man's life. It wasn't like I sneaked off to Honeyduke's to get something asinine like candy, like some people."

Harry's face turned an alarming shade of purple. _Might not have said that, _she realized, but it was far too late to take back the words now.

Harry spun on his heel and stormed out of the room, slamming the library door behind him.

Ron was staring at her like he'd never seen her before. Giving his head a shake, he followed out after Harry.

Hermione stared at the door, tears pooling up her eyes. Consequences and lines and probabilities and futures where she was friends but not best friends with Harry and Ron stretched before her. Crumpling to the floor, Hermione felt like crying. She didn't. Wiping her eyes with the backs of hands, she climbed back to her feet. She had consequences and lines and probabilities and futures before her and crying wasn't going to help.

* * *

Professor Snape tossed and turned within the narrow confines of the bed. His hair stuck to his skin from sweat, his breath coming out in rapid, shallow pants. Beneath his eyelids, his eyes darted rapidly from side to side. That he was trapped in some kind of nightmare was obvious. It disturbed Hermione to see her proud teacher brought to this. What disturbed her more though were the small sounds that occasionally escaped him. They weren't quite whimpers or whinges, but some choked combination of the two, as if in his dreams he was trying to stifle the urge to scream.

She couldn't watch this anymore without _doing_ something.

"Rink, I can't stand this. The pain potions aren't working." She scrubbed tiredly at her face. "Or they are working, they just aren't working enough. I need to do something." Fists clenched, she let out a short scream. "Anything."

"Ears are flapping."

That non-sequitur completely threw Hermione for a loop and she switched her attention from the comatose Snape to Rink, her frustration momentarily set aside. She was getting rather used to some of the odder things that Rink would say. She also felt herself to be rather good at translating elf-speak into the Queen's English. This one though, had her stumped.

"Ears are flapping?" she repeated back.

Rink, his face particularly serious, nodded decisively, causing his own rather large ears to flap forward.

Hermione hid a smile behind a feigned cough and raised hand. She wouldn't want to hurt Rink's feelings. Getting control of her grin, she asked as nonchalantly as possible, "So, what are ears flapping about?"

"Elves are very impressed with Hermy."

Hermione let out a rueful laugh. Everyone else in the house was treating her like she was some kind of pariah – actually, they were treating her rather like they treated Snape. And now the house-elves, who wouldn't even get close to her before, were now proud of her.

_Good Lord, when did my life get so odd?_

"Why are the elves proud of me?"

"Hermy's words. Hermy's doing. Hermy needs to do something," Rink said, as if Hermione's mounting frustration at not being able to help Professor Snape somehow made more sense to the house-elves than it did to her. "Elves _need_ to do something."

_Maybe it did make sense to the elves and maybe _doing_ was all it took. I've already done one thing, maybe that will help here._

"Rink?" The elf was at her side immediately. "I need you to go to Hogwarts and get the sheets I made for Professor Snape."

Rink's ears, which had drooped forlornly ever since Snape's appearance at Grimmauld Place, shot straight up in response. Eyes as wide and round as saucers regarded her with faint hope.

"Hermy is doing. Hermy believes magic will help the Master of Potions?"

Hermione leaned forward in the chair. Resting her chin on a propped up hand, she stared at her teacher for a moment. "Don't get your hopes up Rink, but I'm thinking that they might. Professor Snape is still in a lot of pain and he isn't sleeping restfully. That can't be good for his healing. I hope that the spells in the sheets might – I don't know – make it easier on him or something."

Rink regarded her solemnly. "Rink will get Miss' sheets."

"Thanks."

With a soft _pop_, Rink disappeared and Hermione was left alone with Snape. She dared to reach out and run a fingertip along her jaw line, feeling the scrape of his facial hair again the sensitive skin. She jerked her hand away guiltily when Snape, even unconscious, flinched from her light touch.

She didn't have long to wait and soon the narrow bed had been changed with Rink's help and Hermione was smoothing down the edges of sheets that Rink had retrieved. She knew that they had helped the professor before. Alverez' charms and potions were obviously helping Professor Snape's physical ailments, but nothing so far seemed to help the man get any true rest. She only hoped that the comfort and protection she'd woven into the sheets would help Snape. Now the hard part would begin again. There was no more _doing_ to be done. It was simply waiting.

* * *

"How long?" were the first words he rasped out three days later. Hermione winced to hear his normally smooth baritone sound so faint and jagged. She hurried forward to give her professor and patient a sip of cool water. As she prepared the glass she gave a short recitation of the facts, knowing that a man such as Professor Snape would be wanting to know everything that had happened.

"You showed up several days ago during a storm. You were seriously inured and unconscious when you were found." She decided to leave out the fact that she had been the one to find him, but she knew she wouldn't be able to leave out the next couple of parts.

"Dumbledore came and removed the curse you were under."

She saw Snape nod slightly at her words and wondered if that meant he remembered that awful curse Voldemort had cast on him.

"However," she continued, "he wasn't able to heal you completely, as you were very badly injured. He sent for Madam Pomfrey but she was unavailable. I –" she stopped, gathering her courage for this next par, "I went to get Healer Alverez to help you."

Snape frowned, his face somewhere between shocked and amazed. "Professor Dumbledore initiated Healer Alverez into the Order?"

"Not exactly," Hermione hedged.

Tired black eyes that still held a lot of pain in their depths met hers. "Explain," he demanded curtly.

* * *

Author's Note 3: Many of you clever readers have already figured out that I have shamelessly based my version of Arthimancy off of Isaac Asimov's 'science' of Psychohistory from the_ Foundation _books. In Asimov's original stories, the science is used to predict societal changes for large groups of people. I figured that magic would allow a person to get down to the individual level. In my story, as in Asimov's original story, Hari Seldon is the creator of Psychohistory.

Author's Note 4: The phrase "Ears are flapping" was coined by Sofa-Chan. She is by far one of my nuttier readers and I say that with great affection. Her reviews never fail to send me into gales of laughter.

Author's Note 5: I know, not a lot of semi-nekkid Snape and he was unconscious through most of the whole thing. But the poor man needed his sleep. He'll be back next chapter better rested and still as semi-nekkid.


	24. Ch 24: Four Conversations

**Author's Notes: **

1. Once again, I've heard back from one beta but not the other yet. I'm going to guess that you guys are okay with living with the typos and missing commas if you can have the chapter before anyone else on the internet. Otherwise, if you want the polished version, you'll have to wait until it is posted to Ashwinder. You are again invited to play "Spot Caeria's Mistakes" and let me know about them -- or in whitehound's case, "Spot Caeria's Glaring Americanisms."

2. I would also like to point out that this chapter is up in record time (for me.) Watch while I do the Snoopy dance!!!

* * *

**Chapter 23: Four Conversations **

"Explain."

Hermione knew she was standing there doing a good approximation of a deer in headlights, but she really didn't want to explain. _And why did she forever have to explain things to him? 'Explain. Tell me everything, Miss Granger.' Why couldn't other people like the headmaster explain a few things?_

_The headmaster!_

She'd promised to send a house-elf the minute that Professor Snape regained consciousness. It was grasping onto a procrastination life-line, but Hermione seized it anyway.

"I have to get Professor Dumbledore," she said in a rush, and bolted for the door. Even Gryffindors had the off day of courage, she reasoned as she descended the stairs.

The house-elf dispatched to retrieve Dumbledore arrived with Healer Alverez in tow. Hermione caught Tonks' raised eyebrow at Remus but thankfully neither said anything. Hermione was delighted with Healer Alverez's arrival though. It meant that while the other witch wasn't an official member of the Order, the Healer was at least involved. Plus, her presence meant that she could give Professor Snape another check-up.

"Professor Snape is awake," Hermione said through a big grin as soon as it was obvious that the Headmaster and Healer had oriented themselves to their new surroundings.

Alverez stepped from Dumbledore's side all business-like. "Is he merely awake or is he aware?"

Hermione's grin faltered slightly. "He is aware and already asking for explanations of what has happened."

"Excellent. That bodes well for his full recovery." Hefting her Healer's bag, she gestured Hermione before her. "Come on, then. Best get a look at him."

Placing a hand on her shoulder, Dumbledore stopped her. "I think it best that Miss Granger remain down here, Arrosa, at least until you have been able to do your exam and I have had a chance to speak with Professor Snape."

Hermione expected the Healer to make an argument but Alverez simply narrowed her eyes a bit before nodding. "Perhaps you are correct, in this instance." But turning to Hermione she added, "I will need you upstairs before I leave so I can go over with you Professor Snape's continuing care needs and so I can make sure he will follow your directions. I'm sure Albus will let you know when he is finished with his Potions master."

With a nod towards Albus, the two headed upstairs leaving Hermione in the front parlor. Not knowing what else to do with herself, she slumped down into a settee. As an uncomfortable silence began to grow, Tonks, bless her soul, tried to break the heavy atmosphere.

"Wotcher, Hermione?"

Hermione sent her a grateful smile, one which the other witch returned. It dawned on Hermione that being a Metamorphmagus, that Tonks might know a thing or two about being ostracised by her fellow witches and wizards.

"It's going good, Tonks, thanks."

"Expecting that now Snape's awake that you'll have your hands full with him. Don't expect he'll be a right pleasant patient."

Remus gave Tonks' shoulder a nudge. "Old Snape's never been pleasant," he said with a laugh.

Hermione, back now ramrod straight, glared until Remus's laughter sputtered out. Unwilling to take an adult to task like she would Ron for disrespect to Professor Snape, Hermione rose and headed out of the room. She'd just wait outside Professor Snape's room until Healer Alverez needed her. Behind her she heard Remus inquire to Tonks, "What's bothering Hermione?"

* * *

"Arrosa," Snape hissed in annoyance.

Arrosa just smiled. "Oh, leave off, Severus. I'm not one of your students to be intimated by your growling."

"I'm not trying to be intimidating," he said, pulling at the top sheet covering his body. "I'm trying to maintain my dignity, not to mention a little modesty."

She had the temerity to laugh at him. "Rubbish! As if the sight of your pale, boney arse is going to give me the vapors." She frowned then, her expression showing the real concern she felt. "Seriously, you are too thin, Severus. You need some decent meals and some real rest. A body can only take so much abuse before it simply stops."

For the first time since Albus and Arrosa had entered his room, Severus's combativeness faded away. His eyes flickered from her to where Albus sat in a chair against the far wall. "That is not always possible." He trusted Arrosa, a consummate Slytherin, to read into those few words all the possible nuances of meaning.

He wasn't disappointed, as her lips thinned and her eyes hardened. Severus knew she'd taken his meaning but seeing the sympathy in her expression, he sought to divert her attention from him. Falling back on their longstanding verbal sparring, he snapped, "You have waved your wand. Now pronounce me fit, Healer, so I may get dressed and leave."

Her sympathetic expression slid back into her usual one of brisk, no nonsense competence, though Severus doubted he had dissuaded her with his feeble attempt.

"I'm sorry, Severus, but you're in no condition to go anywhere. Trust me, if you tried to get out of bed right at this moment, you'd be flat on your face before you took two steps. And I assure you -- if you're stubborn enough to try -- I will neither catch you nor reset that nose of yours when you smash it against the floorboards."

"Ah," he sneered, "there is that delightful bedside manner that made you head of St. Mungo's Spell Damage ward."

She clucked her tongue at him. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Severus." Stowing her wand, she set a small rack of potion vials on the table next to his bed along with a white ceramic pot that was typically used to hold medicinal salves. Arossa caught him eyeing them curiously. She slid easily from mocking banter into the courtesy due a professional colleague.

"Vervain for the pain. Du Zhong for the weakness you are currently suffering. Nerve Tincture to help with the magic depletion you are currently suffering with the added benefit of helping with the pain management. The salve is a combination of Burn Paste with skullcap and licorice root. You have several very nasty spell burns along your arms, legs and across your back."

"Du Zhong, wouldn't Dang Gui be a better choice?"

She gave him a swift glare. "You may know potions, Severus Snape, but I'm the Healer here. I chose Du Zhong because of the associated strengthening properties. Trust me, you are going to need them. You-Know-Who almost killed you. If your Miss Granger hadn't retrieved me when she did, I have no doubt you would be dead now."

Severus frowned. _His Miss Granger_ was his first thought, following almost immediately by: _So Granger really had gotten Arrosa?_ His frown deepened into a scowl. That made no sense. No one in the Order would have let her into the house. He shot a look to Albus who gave a small nod of his head. _So it was true._ _Interesting_. He made a mental note to add that topic to his eventual talk with the headmaster.

But first he had to get through with Arrosa. "Fine. Tell me what I need to know and I will be a model patient."

"Model patient, my arse. I'm not asking you for a miracle, Severus. Just follow my recommendations and don't try to do more than you are capable of until your body and magic heal."

* * *

Severus was tired, a state that brought its own share of personal annoyance since he'd only awakened a little over an hour ago. During that hour he'd been poked, prodded, had a wand waved over him and been forced to drink a shoddily-prepared strengthening potion – a fact for which he'd thoroughly castigated Arrosa for her choice of brewer. The last insult to injury had been the rather lengthy and somewhat vehement lecture of how he _was_ going to take care of himself, he _was_ going to follow Alverez's instructions, and how he _was_ going to allow Miss Granger to take care of him with suffered humility and patience. There had even been threats involved and the entire time Albus had stood calmly by with a most annoying expression of serenity on his face.

As the hour had worn on, it had become a struggle to focus his thoughts, and his body felt heavy, an almost suffocating lassitude that urged him to close his eyes and sleep. It was this, more than anything else, which confirmed for him that his condition really was as serious as Arrosa had intimated.

But Severus had lived most of his life using sheer willpower to overcome the obstacles placed in his life. He would not allow weakness, even his own body's, to determine his course. His only concession was to make himself a little more comfortable, leaning back into the pillows that supported him as we watched the interactions between the headmaster and Arrosa with a lethargic curiosity.

Their sotto voiced conversation – although it was really more argument if the Healer's gestures and body language meant anything – made for an interesting tableau. It was a fascinating exercise to watch their interactions while catching the odd word or two of their conversation.

" . . .I need . . ."

"Old goat! If you . . . sense . . ."

He would have wondered what they were arguing about but every so often Arrosa gestured wildly in his direction so it look little difficulty in surmising that he was the topic of their heated discussion. Severus suppressed a grin as he watched Arrosa thump a pointed finger into the headmaster's chest with one hand while her other remained firmly planted on her hip. Albus wasn't looking so complaisant now that Arrosa had turned her attention to him. It served him right as far as Severus was concerned and only made him more curious about how Arrosa had found her way into the Order.

He had been urging Albus to bring Arrosa into the Order of the Phoenix for a number of years. As one of the most respected Healers at St. Mungo's, a cunning Slytherin, and from an old, established wizarding family, Alverez was in a unique position to both gather useful information while planting false information amongst the families that made up the core financial and political support for the Dark Lord.

Albus had, in the past, always deflected Severus's attempts at recruitment with brushed off comments and side-steps. Severus had always assumed that Albus's reluctance to bring in the brilliant Healer had to do with her being a former member of Slytherin and all the prejudices that went along with being a member of that House. Now, seeing the interactions between the two, Severus realized that Arrosa's exclusion had less to do with House affiliations and more to do with Albus's personal past. His lips twitched again. He had to wonder if Minerva had met Arrosa yet and what the two strongest witches in Albus's life thought about each other.

It was with that delightful image in mind that Severus slipped from drowsy contemplation to full sleep.

* * *

"Severus?" His name, called softly, penetrated the warm cocoon that seemed to encompass him. Part of him urged that he ignore the voice and slip deeper into the embracing darkness. The other part, duty and honour-bound, recognized the headmaster's voice. There was no hesitation as sleep gave way to wakefulness. Severus opened his eyes.

"Forgive me for waking you, Severus. I would not do this if I did not feel that your information is vital."

Severus shrugged, and then winced as the bone-deep bruise across his chest and shoulder twinged in warning. "No, Albus. You were right to wake me. Too many days have passed, and my information may now be critical."

He took a quick look around the room before he continued, old habits of secrecy reasserting themselves.

Albus caught and read that look correctly. "I've sent Alverez out to speak with Miss Granger. We are alone and I've secured this room."

Severus temporary put aside his curiosity in Miss Granger's role in all of this and turned to the more important Order business. "There are definitely things you need to know. The Dark Lord's mental and emotional states before I left were sliding into the desperate. Several of his key plans fell through, pushing him to make a few rash decisions. I believe potential exists there for our use, if the Order can hurry."

He struggled to sit up more fully amongst the pillows, cursing softly under his breath as his body failed to move in the ways he desired. A hand on his shoulder stopped further movement.

"Relax, my boy." Dumbledore was watching him, blue eyes sharp and piercing.

"I am fine, Albus, he said, annoyance creeping into his voice. "The rest did me good." Just the same, he gave up trying to raise himself and settled once more into the pillows. Struggling, he knew, just made himself look all that much weaker.

The headmaster still looked unsure but acquiesced with a nod of his head. "If you are sure, then ready yourself."

Closing his eyes, Severus drew in a deep breath and let himself relax, picturing the still form of the lake within his mind. He had done this so many times over the years that it took but a moment to center himself on that shore. He was no longer even sure when he'd begun using the visual representation of the lake and its surrounds to represent his emotional and mental state. But now, after all these years, the symbology flowed freely and he had no problem interpreting the images and sounds before him.

Alone in his mind, the lake rippled with his thoughts. His emotions and desires manifested themselves in the surroundings. The trees lining the banks moved in a breeze, small scurrying animal sounds could be heard from the underbrush. His own mental image stood upon the shore. Like a conductor before an orchestra, he stretched out his hand. Around him, the noises stopped and trees grew still. Another wave of his ghostly hand and the surface of the lake grew smooth and glassy.

Readying himself, he stepped out into the water. A few steps later the water was up to his waist and then his chest. He continued to walk until the waters closed in over his head. Diving down he swam, breath unneeded, until he floated deep within the lake. There, he sank all those things he did not want the headmaster to see deeper into the murky waters below him. Everything else he brought upwards until the memories flashed like quicksilver fish just beneath the surface, as if the lake were a giant Penseive, simply waiting for someone to touch its surface.

Opening his eyes he caught Albus's gaze, looking deep in the blue of his eyes. "Begin."

"_Legilimens_."

The power of Albus's spell hit and he struggled to keep his own mind open and unshielded as every instinct sought to throw up barriers and freeze the lake to protect himself. For a moment, a wind roared through the mental landscape and the trees bowed before the onslaught but Severus regained control and the winds died down until only stillness remained.

Severus was no longer alone in his head. He waited as Albus touched each of the memories that had passed since the last time they'd met -- memories that Albus could now experience first hand.

He felt the moment that Albus retreated from his mind, the pressure of the headmaster's magic easing from his senses. He did not immediately bring himself up, but continued to drift beneath the surface of the lake for a minute, enjoying the calm. Gradually he relaxed his hold and thoughts rose around him, churning the waters and bringing him up. As he cleared the surface, he opened his eyes. He _almost_ expected to see the blue of the sky, instead he found Albus's sad blue eyes.

"Albus?"

"I realize you are tired, but there are a few things we need to discuss before I turn you back over to Arrosa."

"Concerning Miss Granger."

"Very much concerning the young lady, I'm afraid."

Severus frowned.

"I'm so sorry, Severus." Albus rested a hand on his arm where it rested against the sheet. "It is due to Miss Granger's efforts, and my own, of course, that Tom has done this to you, which in turn directly relates to why Miss Granger will be working to take care of you while you regain your strength."

"Perhaps it would be best if you filled me in on all that has happened since I was here last."

* * *

Hermione paced outside of Snape's room, her steps quick and her turns jerky as her agitation escaped from the control she had clamped on it.

She was still angry with Remus's cavalier attitude in regards to Professor Snape. On top of that, Healer Alverez had come out of Professor Snape's room leaving the headmaster behind. Alverez had retreated down to the kitchens to get herself something to eat until she could get back in to see Snape.

That left Professor Snape and the headmaster together which led to her other reason for her agitation.

_I'm bloody well and royally screwed._ It was a sign of just how nervous she was that she didn't even think to chide herself for her internal language.

Maybe she should have waited before getting Dumbledore and told her side of the story before Snape met with headmaster. Not that she was all that thrilled at the idea of telling Snape her side – her side, the Order's side, Dumbledore's side – it really didn't make much difference at this point. She was screwed no matter which side you took it from.

She couldn't even listen in because Dumbledore had thrown up a Silencing Spell. She spun on her heel and headed back down the hallway as she contemplated all the things that Dumbledore could be telling Snape.

"Hermione?"

Hermione jumped with a small squeak, pulling her wand from her pocket as she spun around. "Geez, Ron!" she yelled. "Don't do that! You scared me half to death."

Shuffling his feet a bit, Ron gave her a rueful grin. "Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you."

Slipping his hands in his pockets, he shrugged. "I . . . you know, just wanted to see how you were doing. Professor Dumbledore's been in there with Snape a long time."

"Professor Snape, Ron," she corrected automatically.

He shrugged again, the rebuke rolling off him. "What do you think they're talking about?"

Since answering 'me,' sounded a bit too arrogant in her head, Hermione went with a broader answer. "I suspect that Professor Snape is telling Dumbledore about Voldemort and why he tried to kill him. And the headmaster has things to catch Professor Snape up on. A lot has happened in the last couple of weeks."

"Think he'll tell him about you?"

Hermione grimaced. "Of that, I have no doubt."

They both fell silent, Hermione staring curiously at Ron, and Ron staring at anything but Hermione.

Finally he spoke. "Do you think he'll tell Snape about Harry?"

And there it was. The thing they didn't talk about and the real reason Ron was standing in the hallway. Hermione felt something squeeze her heart, making it difficult to breathe. It felt like betrayal. "No, I don't think the headmaster will say anything to Professor Snape about Harry. He knows how the two of them dislike each other."

_But that doesn't mean I won't mention Harry to Professor Snape_.

"Hermione—"

"It will be okay, Ron. We'll figure something out."

His expression was doubtful, but Ron nodded anyway. "Yeah, we will."

Ron shuffled his feet again, tracing one foot along a crack running down one of the floorboards and Hermione knew he was about to make his escape. A wave of sadness and something almost like homesickness hit her, to know that she and Ron could no longer talk just as themselves. The only real thing they had left between them was Harry, and he just wasn't enough anymore.

"Well, good luck then. I don't think Snape is going to want a student helping him get better. Don't let the great bat get you down."

Ron retreated back down the hallway before should could correct his disrespect.

* * *

Although Hermione was expecting it, when the door to Professor Snape's room opened, she was still startled into jumping. At least this time she spared herself the undignified squeak. Dumbledore stood framed in the doorway, his countenance both troubled and tired before what Hermione now knew to be a mask of geniality slipped over his features hiding his true thoughts. Seeing him, she felt a flash of guilt for her recent uncharitable thoughts of him. The role he played was just as stressful, if not as dangerous, as Professor Snape's. Yet still, that annoying inner voice snidely pointed out, Dumbledore at least had a circle of friends to fall back on when he needed to know he wasn't alone.

_When did I become such a cynic?_

"Ah, Miss Granger, thank you for waiting."

Hermione plastered a smile on her face for the headmaster's benefit but some twist in Dumbledore's eyes made her wonder if perhaps the headmaster didn't see through her mask as she was beginning to see through his. Stepping out into the hall, he carded his fingers through his beard, his eyes bright upon her. Hermione, though, found that his regard wasn't nearly as panic inducing as Snape's could be. And when Dumbledore didn't call her out, Hermione kept her silence.

Strangely enough, she got the feeling that pleased him, for he reached out to lay a soft hand on her shoulder. "I realize that while Professor Snape's care is not what you would have desired, I do have the utmost confidence that you will take very good care of him." He paused, and then added, "Regardless of how _difficult_ the circumstances can be."

Hermione guessed that was Dumbledore's subtle way of describing her professor's more acidic personality. "I'll do my best, sir."

He gave her a soft smile. "Yes, I think you will, indeed. Please stay only a few moments as I'm afraid that between Healer Alverez and me, we have over tired Professor Snape. After your visit, please let Healer Alverez know you are ready."

"Of course, sir."

That seemed to satisfy the headmaster and he continued down the hallway to the stairs, leaving Hermione alone.

The door before her was cracked open, spilling a flickering bar of candlelight into the hall. She could hear nothing from inside and supposed that Snape was waiting for her. Briefly wondering if there was a serpent equivalent to bearding a lion in its den, Hermione stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

She was several steps into the room and then stopped, keeping her eyes down on the floorboards in front of her. She fully expected that Snape was going to tear into her any moment for her more reckless behavior over the last few days. Snape, however, didn't seem to be in any hurry to start the conversation, and the silence began to stretch.

Hermione fidgeted impatiently, shuffled her feet and dragged one shoe tip along a floor board.

_Oh God, I'm channeling Ron,_ she realized.

Planting her feet firmly, she straightened her shoulders and linked her hands in front of her before raising her eyes to where her professor lay in the bed. She took one look at her professor and any nervousness still swirling around in the pit of her stomach burned to a crisp as anger swept through her. The man had awakened but two hours ago, yet looked five times worse than when he'd first opened his eyes, demanding answers.

He was also sound asleep.

It seemed she'd been given a reprieve, at least until morning when she knew that Snape would be awake and demanding answers again.

* * *

Harry watched through hooded eyes as Hermione checked over the breakfast tray presented to her by the elf that had taken over the kitchen at Grimmauld Place. Her fussing about the food that would eventually be given to Snape roused the ever-present anger that seemed to always be with him nowadays. In fact, her seemingly good cheer about the bastard's waking up really pissed him off. There were days when he didn't really feel the burn of the anger, but today wasn't one of those days. Today, the anger throbbed in steady time with every beat of his heart, sounding out all the fears and injustice and blind unfairness that surrounded his life.

He never asked to be The Boy That Lived. He never asked to be targeted by Voldemort. He didn't want the responsibility and he didn't want the looks when members of the Order gathered: the pity and the desperate hope in their eyes. He was never sure which one was worse, which one fed the anger that seemed to bubble inside of him more.

Leaving the kitchen before he said something he knew he shouldn't, Harry ignored the look of confusion on Ron's face. At least from him it wasn't the hated pity and hope combination. Confusion Harry could safely ignore, which he did now. He wasn't surprised when Ron didn't follow him. Then again, after their yelling match the last time Ron had attempted to follow Harry, the likelihood of Ron coming after him now was pretty slim.

Still a part of Harry wished Ron would follow, wished that Hermione would stop defending Snape. Of course, he also wished that Voldemort would choke on a chicken bone and drop dead so they could all go back to living ordinary, quiet lives. Harry knew that his wishes rarely ever came true.

Heading upstairs towards the attic, he passed the portrait of Mrs. Black, one hate-filled, painted eye glaring out at the world through a crack in her worn velvet curtains. Harry glared back, and mercifully the portrait stayed silent, as he continued his trek up the stairs. Instead of stopping on the floor that housed the bedrooms, he continued going upwards, the stair treads becoming darker and grimier as he reached the door at the top.

Beyond this door another set of steep, narrow stairs lead upwards to the Black house attic. Shouldering open the door, Harry stepped into narrow, low-ceilinged space. Chests and trunks of all sizes were stacked haphazardly under the eaves. Drop sheets shrouded the forms of tables and chairs seemingly scattered at random through what little space was left. Everything was covered in layers of dust and grime except for one small oasis of relative cleanliness that surrounded a battered chair and table.

It was there that Harry had established his own Sanctum Santorum, his very own Fortress of Solitude -- a thought that never failed to pull a snort of amusement from him. They all, from Dumbledore to Voldemort, had cast him in the role of superhero and savior. A role he didn't want. Every time he tried to pull away he got pulled back in. He'd often felt that he was acting out the role of tortured superhero in Dudley's old comic books, marching from panel to panel under the direction of some unknown author.

Falling back into the faded brocade of the chair, Harry coughed slightly at the dust that arose on impact, then scowled, his expression darkening. The author, or authors, certainly weren't unknown anymore. Everything in his life had been orchestrated by Professors Dumbledore and Vector. He didn't get his father's cloak because it was his _father's_ or because it was now rightly his, but because he _needed_ it.

That shining moment when he'd pulled Gryffindor's sword from the Sorting Hat to defeat the Basilisk and he'd felt proud and honoured, as if Godric Gryffindor was watching over him, it had all been another lie, just another setup. Again, just something he needed to save the day.

What else had been manipulated and twisted so that things fell the way that others wanted them to? _Where is my choice?_

Pulling his wand out of his pocket, Harry measured the length of smooth wood with his fingers. They looked at him as if with a single wave of his wand he was going to save them all. _I don't even know if I want to save them all anymore_. But fresh on the heels of that thought came the shame and guilt. Voldemort was evil. He and his Death Eaters had killed hundreds of people. They had destroyed lives and homes and families. He had destroyed _his_ family. _I do care_.

He did care. They had made it so that he had to care. He had to save them all. That's what pissed him off the most really. He would have cared on his own. They didn't have to _make_ him care.

But it really didn't matter anymore. He was going to kill Voldemort or Voldemort was going to kill him.

Running the tip of his wand between his eyes, Harry pressed hard at the tension that gathered there. Have to save them all.

_Either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives_.

It was the phrase that ran through his mind every day, every hour. He was going to become a murderer. He wasn't sure if it even mattered that Voldemort was an even worse killer, because Dumbledore and Vector and everyone else were training and shaping him to be the killer who went and killed the other killer.

His wand tip dug harder into his skin. _I'll do it. I'll kill the bastard_.

Reaching down between the side of the chair and the cushion, Harry pulled out a thin book bound in pale leather. Its faded gilt title read, _Statues of Wizarding Law, Volume XXXVIII Additions of Unforgivables._ It was a rather unassuming little book and Harry had come across it by accident while doing some rather half-hearted research for one of Professor Binn's History essays.

The book detailed the Wizengamot session when the Cruciatus, Imperius and Killing Curses were instated in British wizarding law as Unforgivables. The Court had deliberated in session for nine days. Each day's questions and answers and debates were written out in dry, but thorough detail. The best part, at least for Harry, was the section on the Killing Curse, as magical theory scholars and people who had actually used the Curse explained its use and limitations and the best and most effective way of casting it.

Flipping to the section he'd marked with a piece of twine, Harry cast about the room until he spotted a spider up in the eaves. Picturing Voldemort in his mind, he gathered his hate around himself. Next he added Pettigrew to the mental image, and then finally Snape.

He flicked his wand. "_Avada_ –"

* * *

**Author's Note: **

Those of you who have been with this story awhile and have listened to me whinge, know that I hate writing conversations. Imagine my consternation when I realized that this whole chapter was all talk – Ron talks to Hermione, Snape talks to Dumbledore, Hermione talks to Snape, and Harry talks to himself. It was like my own little slice of writing hell. The things I do for you guys . . .

Harry and Underage Use of Dark Magic. Here are my thoughts, if anyone is interested. When he's at Hogwarts, he's allowed to practice magic so no one is noticing his 'extra-curricular activities'. The Fidelius with all the other concealing spells on Grimmauld Place, are masking Harry's use of magic there from the Ministry so they can't get him for underage use. Plus, there is so much Dark Magic that has seeped into the Black house over the years that Harry's little bit gets lost amongst the noise.

I realize I'm Evil (yes, with a capital E) for leaving you all there. I couldn't help myself.


	25. Ch 25: The Conversation

**Author's Notes:**

Thanks to Potion Mistress and Keladry for the beta assistance and to Whitehound for the Brit-picking.

This would be the chapter that many of you have been waiting for. After this chapter is over all the talking is done with and we are back into the action. _Thank God!_

* * *

**Chapter 24: THE Conversation**

The light woke him up. Severus blinked several times, squinting in the unfamiliar glow. As a dungeon dweller for most of his life, being awakened by morning light wasn't something he was particular familiar with. _Not something I want to become familiar with,_ he thought with a grumble.

Giving a cautious stretch of his body, Severus winced as multiple aches and pains made themselves known with a vengeance. Considering the severity of his injuries, he was rather surprised he'd slept as well as he had. He didn't even remember having any nightmares, a rather odd occurrence since vivid dreams and nightmares were an uncontrollable side-effect of the often-times ruthless memory suppression and control he practiced on a daily basis. Of course, the combination of healing spells, potions, and his injuries probably contributed to his sleeping the whole night through.

Pulling the sheet up a little higher, he thought wistfully of his grey flannel nightshirt. But he knew all too well Arrosa's reasoning for keeping him in this indecent state of undress. Even now the friction of the soft sheets was like the rasp of an abrasive against his over-sensitized nerve endings. The extra weight of even bedclothes would be too much to bear for long.

As the light steadily increased he took note of his surroundings, something he'd only been able to give a cursory glance to the previous evening. As with most of the rooms he'd seen at Grimmauld Place, this bedroom was narrow and rather dark and dingy, though if you looked closely you could see the remnants of its former elegance. It did, however, show the signs of a recent attempt at both cleaning and brightening. The windows letting in that appalling light had been cleaned, and the ubiquitous spider webs that seemed to cover most of the house had been cleared from the corners. Even the hardwoods had been polished, although they still showed a lifetime of wear and tear.

In the far corner of the room a pallet had been set up, the heaped blankets scrunched up into something that resembled a nest. From the spindly leg and overly-long toes poking beyond the confines of the blankets, he saw that Rink had taken up his duties as his Severus' personal house-elf again. It went a long way towards explaining the cleanliness of the room.

_House-elves_. He would have to remember to question the girl – _call her Granger_, he reminded himself – about the house-elves. He had so many questions there, starting with how she'd come to the realization that the elves could help the Order, to how she'd managed to get the elves to acknowledge the Grangers as a House. It had been several hundred years, at least, since a new House line had been established. Albus had been nearly clapping his hands in demented glee while conveying that bit of news to Severus the night before.

Who would have ever thought that house-elves would be the key to spoiling so many of the Dark Lord's plans lately? That it was Granger, Muggle-born and champion of Elven rights who was in the middle of it all gave the whole thing a rather Slytherinesque sense of irony. _And just one more bit of proof that the Fates truly hate me. It is my own student who brings me down._

As the light grew steadily brighter, Severus caught movement from Rink. It seemed that the fellow didn't particularly care for the light either, as with a short groan, the elf flipped over away from the light and pulled a corner of a blanket over his head. Severus grinned in sympathy. He rather wished he could do the same. However, at this point, he wasn't even sure he could lift his arms over his head, much less turn over onto his side.

And there he was, back to his current predicament. Damn Albus and the Dark Lord both. At least Albus, in a moment of demented kindness, had saddled him with Granger as a nurse-maid. He wouldn't have put it past the man to have thought about putting Potter on him as some kind of warped bonding experience. As if either one of them would have lived through that.

Glancing at the window, he gauged the amount of light coming through. Granger would be here soon, over-achieving irritant that she was. Though according to Arrosa, she was _his_ over-achieving irritant. He supposed that made all the difference. Best start the day now, though, before his irritant arrived.

"Rink," he called.

The lump under the blanket stirred and grumbled a bit but no house-elf emerged. Eyes narrowed and lips pursed, Severus contemplated the mound of blankets. A slow, rather evil grin spread across his face.

"Rink!" he snapped, the word sounding like the crack of a whip.

One rumpled house-elf shot straight up in the air, knobby knees and elbows flailing. Severus quickly hid his grin behind his usual scowl.

"Sir?" Rink squeaked, ears quivering at full attention.

His need for amusement satisfied, Severus gave a short nod and said with just the lightest trace of feigned annoyance. "Your assistance is needed. I have little doubt that Granger will be pounding on my door shortly."

Surprisingly enough, the house-elf looked rather affronted at his comment. _Interesting._

"Miss has been taking good care of the Master."

"I'm sure that she has," he replied dryly. "However, I will need help with my morning ablutions before Granger arrives."

Thankfully, Rink took his meaning without him having to spell out the problem in all the gory details. He'd be damned if he gave up all his dignity, and with a female student at that.

* * *

Hermione fussed with the breakfast tray that she'd just been handed. From beneath her lashes she could see Harry glaring at her from his side of the table and knew that she was, again, the cause of his temper. This time, she just couldn't find it in her to care. Harry, for all his sullen glaring, just couldn't hold her attention this morning. She had far more intimidating dragons to confront. Truthfully, she was rather relieved when Harry got up and stalked off.

Turning away, she gave one last glance to the tray, although she didn't really need to bother with it back to the tray she gave it one last look, although she didn't have to bother. The house-elf in charge of the kitchen had made Snape's breakfast to Hermione's exact specifications. The food was bland, and just the sort of thing she'd seen Snape actually eating at Hogwarts. Not to mention, it was all food that would be light enough for a man who'd just spent several days on nothing but broths and medical potions.

Still she fidgeted, arranging and rearranging the cloth napkin on the tray. She knew why she was having an attack of nerves. There would be no amnesty for her once she took the tray upstairs.

It was finally time to talk to Snape. No more delays. No more last minute reprieves. No more evasions.

* * *

Settling back into the pillows with Rink's assistance with a groan, Severus realized he might be even worse than Arrosa had given him to believe. Groaning, he allowed Rink to help him settle back into the pillows. Severus realized even the mild exertion on his part to use the facilities had left him sweating and gasping for breath. Taking a deep breath, he held it for a count of ten and then slowly let it out. God, he despised being weak. If he'd had any doubts about needing Granger's assistance, they had been dispelled.

_Knock. Knock._

He gave a soft snort of amusement._ Speak of the devil and she will appear_.

Dismissing Rink with a wave of his hand he called, "Come in, Granger."

The door opened to the girl balancing a tray of what was probably his breakfast against her hip and looking positively twitchy. He knew the signs well and could also tell she was deliberately trying to appear calm and unconcerned. He gave her points – at least mentally – at her half-way decent attempt.

The rather remarkable thing though, was while she was nervous, she quite obviously was not afraid. Severus knew fear – he knew the sight of it reflected in another's eyes, knew the cloying stench of it in the air and the taste of it on his tongue far more intimately than he ever wanted to. Another point of respect earned, he decided, since he could count on one hand the people who weren't, on some level, afraid of him.

For a moment he could almost see, like a superimposed image, the woman the girl would become – daring and bold as any Gryffindor but with a keen and dangerous intelligence behind her unassuming brown eyes. He found it a curiously appealing image, especially knowing that the potential of what she could be rested in his hands. A blink of an eye later though and she was the girl again, nervously chewing on her bottom lip and waiting for on him to acknowledge her.

"Am I looking that bad, Granger?" he asked wryly. He was rewarded with a flush of embarrassment as she jumped guiltily at being caught staring.

"It's just that . . . ." Her words trailed off with a wince.

Amused, he watched her fidget with the tray, shifting it to her other hip. No doubt she was trying to decide on the best way to answer him without also offending him. He'd seen himself in the bathroom mirror. He was well aware that he looked half-dead.

"Forgive me, sir, but you look like shite and you didn't look this bad yesterday."

"It's to be expected. Yesterday was rather draining."

He gave her an obvious perusal from her hair down to her shoes, amused again when it caused her to squirm. "Well, are you planning on feeding me or just standing there?"

She jumped as if he'd snarled at her and he was hard-pressed to contain his laughter. Twitting her was obviously going to be as much fun, if not more, than winding up Albus and Minerva.

Planting her feet firmly, she straightened her shoulders and held the tray in front of her.

_Basic Gryffindor gathering of courage. Next would come a frontal assault_. He pursed his lips in an effort not to smile as that would completely ruin the affect he was aiming for, but it was a struggle.

Her jaw clenched once. "I'm here to provide you with breakfast." She held out the tray. "I hope it will meet with your approval."

This time she didn't wait for an invitation but brusquely set the tray to hovering over his blanket-covered lap.

He glanced down at the tray: a poached egg and some kind of thin porridge. No coffee but from the colour and smell, he'd guess some kind of herbal tea.

He gave an inaudible sigh of relief. Nothing on the tray was likely to send him retching. He'd have a hard time trying to explain _that_ to Granger and she, no doubt, would rat him out to Alverez. He'd be damned if he'd give up all control.

Just to see her reaction he asked, "You aren't going to feed me?"

Her entire body twitched.

_Oh yes,_ _definitely more fun than Minerva,_ he decided. "Nevermind, I'll do it,' he said loftily, as if making some grand sacrifice on.

He hid a smirk behind a sip of tea when she dropped into the bedside chair, her body language stiff and controlled.

He concentrated on his food for a few moments, willing his hand holding the utensil not to shake. As the silence lengthened, he wondered how long it would be before she cracked. He glanced down at his plate, he'd guessed before he finished his eggs and congratulated himself as she broke as he was scooping up the last bit.

"Would you like the window open for a bit of fresh air?"

It was painfully obvious from her sudden cringe that was not what she really intended to say. Silence, Severus had found, did wonders when it came to making normally self-possessed wizards and witches prattle like idiots. For two seconds he contemplated snapping at her for that bit of idiocy before he stopped himself. However, it didn't mean he had to go easy on her. _Let's see what the girl is really made of_.

He took a sip of his tea while giving her a considering look. "Keep it closed, Granger," he finally said and took another sip.

It was obviously not what she was expecting if her gob-smacked expression was anything to go by. Some compulsion made her open her mouth again. "If you're sure . . . I mean, it wouldn't take but a moment to open it up for you."

Severus stared at her, carefully concealing his thoughts.

"So, right," she finally said, casting her eyes anywhere but at him. "No window."

She fell silent again but he could practically read her thoughts as they raced across her expressive face: He wasn't acting like himself. He wasn't yelling. He wasn't telling her what many kinds of an idiot she was. Where was the lecture? Where was the disappointment? Where were the 'why didn't you think, Miss Granger?' scathing, ego-puncturing comments?

Definitely more entertaining than he'd originally thought. Seeing her shoulders straighten minutely, he headed her off before she could gather her courage again. "On second thought, crack it."

"What?"

"The window, Granger?" he indicated with a jerk of his head, his expression one that he usually reserved for dealing with first-years . . . or Neville.

"Oh right, the window." She headed to the window in complete bewilderment, oblivious to his smirk behind her. Once done, she returned to stand in the middle of the room.

Of course, he couldn't tweak her too much too soon or she'd get suspicious and there would go his fun. It was probably time he got on with the interrogation she was no doubt expecting.

Pushing the tray to the side of the bed, he shifted on the pillows until he found a comfortable spot. "Well?"

At her confused look, he gave her an aggrieved sigh. "I have heard Dumbledore's version of events. I have heard Alverez's version of events. I have not heard your version of events. Start with the house-elves, move onto that singularly idiotic dash to St. Mungo's to get Healer Alverez, and end with your forced detention of serving me."

"It's not detention," she snapped, before adding a belated, "sir."

He made no comment, but raised one brow, his expression faintly mocking, well aware of how the gesture annoyed her . . . and just about everyone else he knew, as well.

She resumed her seat across from him, tucking her fingers rather curiously under her thighs. "I didn't do all that much with the house-elves, you know."

"False modesty doesn't become you. With your involvement of the house-elves, you have single-handedly upset the balance of the house-elf Family Lines and their ties to the oldest established wizarding families. You have angered the Dark Lord, for their use – although at this point he does not yet realize that it is their use -- has greatly upset several of his plans. You have very nearly caused my death, and you've managed to throw the entire Order into disarray. Truly Granger, I do not think even Potter, at his most annoying, has managed to upset so many tea carts all at once."

"Harry isn't . . . oh, nevermind," she huffed, before switching back to the real topic of the conversation. "It wasn't like that. Really it wasn't. I've been interested in the house-elves for a number of years."

"I am well aware of your painfully dismal efforts with SPEW."

"That's S.P.E.W. And my efforts weren't dismal," she said in outraged defence. "Besides, it was those efforts which got me noticed by the Hogwarts matriarch, Lonny." Her annoyance at him faded into exasperation for the house-elves. "I had no idea that she was going to give me – my family, that is – a house-elf line. I'm still not sure I really even know what that means," she said, throwing up her hands.

Taking a deep breath, she tucked her fingers back under her before continuing. "I had noticed that the elves' magic is different from ours and that they weren't confined by regular wards or anti-Apparation spells, so it made sense to ask them to help. They agreed."

She fell silent for a moment before asking quietly, "Did _he_ really hurt you because of me?"

"Gryffindors and their guilt complexes," he sighed. At her continued look of distress, he broke a long standing tradition and sought to explain. "The Dark Lord is unaware that the house-elves are helping the Order by spiriting away his intended targets. House-elves don't even register in most wizards' awareness. It would be unfathomable to a wizard that a house-elf could, or even would, do as they have been. To that end, the Dark Lord saw fit to send me back to the Order to discover Dumbledore's secret defence." He gave an indifferent shrug. "So, the method of my return was simply an amusement for him and is not because of you."

Interestingly enough, Granger went white at his dismissive comment.

"He . . . he nearly killed you!"

Monetarily surprised at her sputtering outrage on his behalf, he soon found himself laughing, at least until a sharp pain lanced across bruised and still healing ribs. He wrapped one arm tightly around his middle and met her gaze. "Don't waste your indignation on my behalf. I am the Order's spy, Granger. I am the Dark Lord's spy. I have neither past nor future. I have only the present. And in this present, I am alive and still able to continue with the tasks placed before me."

"But-"

"Enough," he said, slicing his hand through the air. "Tell me what you did with Alverez."

She didn't want to stop the conversation. He could see that in the rigid line of her back and the way her fingers were now gripping hard to her legs but her supposed sympathy made him uncomfortable in ways he didn't want to examine. _Caring_ ultimately meant that someone got hurt. Caring meant you started thinking about futures and plans and dreams. He'd given up dreams, and he had no future.

"Alverez?" he asked, when she seemed reluctant to begin.

A fine tremor went through her accompanied by a muffled noise of frustration that was followed closely by a sigh. He'd seen that reaction enough times from Minerva to know that Granger would, reluctantly, do as he requested.

"When you were injured no one seemed to be doing anything. I was upset and I talked to Dumbledore and he said that Madam Pomfrey was away." Her hands clenched tight against her legs again. "You were _dying_ and I just couldn't sit around and . . . and . . . twiddle my thumbs. Our visit to Healer Alverez popped into my head. The next thing I knew I was out the door."

"With no plan?"

She shook her head. "No."

"With no idea on how to get Alverez in to see me."

"No," she admitted again, looking rather embarrassed. "The Fidelus Charm didn't even occur to me. It was actually the Healer who thought of the Somnambul Charm."

"So, with no thought to the danger that you were putting everyone in the Order into, including your precious Potter, you went haring off to St. Mungo's."

She flushed a dull red, she shoulders slumping. "Yes."

"I see."

The silence grew again between them until Granger once again forced the conversation. "You aren't yelling at me."

He let out an amused chuff of air. "Should I be yelling?"

"Yes. Well . . . I mean . . . yes. You always-" she stopped then started again. "I went against Dumbledore's orders. I endangered the Order. I lied. You said I needed to think and I didn't. I reacted. And now you aren't yelling when you should, and you're disappointed in me. And you probably don't want to teach me anymore. And you . . . ."

"Are you done?"

Granger stumbled mid-tirade at his interruption.

"I . . . you . . . yes."

"Good. You did several things well. You did several things not so well. You handled my arrival at Grimmauld Place, a crisis situation, with aplomb.

Granger, I'm not trying to teach you to apply strict logic to every situation. People are rarely logical, even when it is in their best interest. Nor do they react as the textbooks say they will. And ultimately, that is not the point of what I'm trying to teach you.

It is not a test. There is no right or wrong. Much to my horror, you are a Gryffindor. You are going to act like one. But there is nothing wrong with combining that with what some might term 'Slytherin sensibilities' – an act of _thinking_ about what you are doing and what others are doing. I want you to think beyond the rules and outside of the books. Above all, I want you to consider the myriad outcomes that can result from but a single action. There are always consequences. I want you to learn to choose the best of those consequences. So, tell me what you did that began the chain of _wrong_."

"I went to get Healer Alverez without permission."

He rolled his eyes and she flushed again. "The beginning, Granger. Going after Alverez wasn't your first mistake."

When she hesitated, he answered for her. "You left the house without telling anyone where you were going. You could have been captured. The Order would have not known where to even begin looking for you. I can assure you, having the Dark Lord dump your bloodied body at my feet to deliver to Potter would not have made me happy. Now, start at the beginning and go through each step where you had a decision to make and tell me if it was the right decision or the wrong one."

"You want to walk through everything?"

"Were you not placed at my every beck and call? You have something _else_ you need to be doing?"

She flushed a bit at his sarcasm, but then her eyes flashed in annoyance and something that might – if he stretched – be humour. He found himself wondering what it would be like to have someone besides Albus who 'got him.' But he quickly squashed that fragile desire for connection. It was that _caring_ again. Caring would get him killed one day if he wasn't careful.

"No, sir. I don't have anything else to do and you know full well that I am here to take care of you."

"Good. Then begin."

Granger ducked her head, but not before he saw her eyes roll. _Must remember to get her for that later_.

* * *

She was completely knackered.

Tired to the point where she wasn't even really paying attention as she ran her finger along the spines of the books arrayed along the shelf in the library at Grimmauld Place. She wasn't really reading them, more waiting to see which one leapt out at her. A somewhat dangerous thought, she realized, as these were wizarding books and it wasn't entirely impossible for one to actually reach out and grab her. Truth was, she was too tired to care. So, idly musing on the nature of potentially grabby books, Hermione continued her perusal, trying to find a book that she thought might keep Professor Snape occupied during his confinement.

She couldn't even claim to be tired from doing something strenuous. All she'd done was answer questions from Professor Snape. A lot of questions . . . whose answers had inevitably, it seemed, led to even more questions.

The day had only been paused for food and medicinal potions, and then it had been back to the interrogation. And it had been an interrogation. The Aurors and Scotland Yard had nothing on Severus Snape when he was intent on finding an answer. Taking her NEWTS wouldn't have been that gruelling.

She was fairly sure her brain was now the consistency of porridge . . . the lumpy kind with raisins.

To make it all worse, she was fairly sure the man thought she was entirely stupid. She'd done nothing right. Well, an honest part of her spoke up, she'd kept him alive, but after that, she'd done nothing right. He'd obviously been completely disappointed in her. And just when she thought she'd been making headway into earning some respect with him.

It was just so confusing dealing with him. He had the ability to make her want to scream in frustration and yet, two seconds later she'd think he was funny, in a completely dark and twisted sort of way. It was a rather frustrating reaction and she had no idea how to deal with it. Harry and Ron usually either sent her shrieking or made her laugh. It was never both.

And thinking about Snape got her nowhere and just succeeded in churning up the porridge between her ears.

Her nail scratched along a leather bound book on herbs. _No_, she decided. Not this one.

_House-hold charms? Definitely not_.

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione turned away from the bookshelf. "Professor Vector. Good evening."

Vector gave a nod to the shelves. "Trying to find something to read?"

"For Professor Snape, actually."

Vector chuckled. "Good luck with that one. Try something in magical theory. It should keep him occupied for a while and out of your hair."

"Thank you. I'll try that."

"If you don't mind my saying, Miss Granger, you look a little tired."

Hermione couldn't stop the half-hearted snort that escaped at Vector's words. "Sorry, Professor. I am tired. Professor Snape had a lot of questions today and he's very thorough."

"Thorough? I believe the word you are looking for is relentless. I've worked arthimantic equations for some of Professor Snape's potion experiments. Hufflepuffs aren't the only ones with tenacious badger tendencies."

Hermione choked and coughed as a vision of Snape dressed in canary yellow and black sprang to mind.

"Yes," Vector said, eyes gleaming with mischief, "thinking of him as a Hufflepuff does that to me too."

When Hermione laughed, Vector gave her a smile. "There's a girl. Don't let Professor Snape wear you down. I'll even tell you a secret: his bite is nowhere near as bad as his bark."

Hermione shook her head. "Thank you, Professor." Then pausing, she asked, "Professor?"

"Hmm?"

"I just wanted to tell you that your matrix the other night was . . . I don't even have words for that. The numerical charts, the equations, they . . . I can't even begin."

Vector's humour faded and she stared at Hermione a moment until Hermione was reminded of being under the unrelenting regard of Professor Snape.

"Would you like to see the calculations, Miss Granger?"

"Really?" she asked in surprise.

Vector laughed again. "Miss Granger, I think you are the only one in this house who would be excited to see the Arthimancy equations that make up the Order Matrixes."

"Arthimancy has always been my favourite subject at Hogwarts."

Vector was giving her that look again, but Hermione, suddenly not tired anymore, was too excited by the thought of being able to see Professor Vector's equations to give it much thought.

* * *

So, the hated chapter is done. I do hope that you all were not disappointed in the conversation. It took a rather convoluted turn in its creation. It started out from Hermione's POV but it wasn't working. Then Snape was really taking her to task for her mistakes and being a hard-ass, but that didn't seem quite right either. Then the POV switched to Snape. And then, well, he kind of let me know that what's going on inside of his head, isn't exactly what he shows to the outside world or to Hermione. A theme that I've had Hermione noticing through the whole story but sort of caught me by surprise when Snape pulled it on me. I guess everyone has a dunderhead moment. I suspect some of you will like it and some of you will hate it. Feel free to throw tomatoes if it didn't work for you.

Oh, and the New Year's resolution is to finish this. If you guys have any muses that are just hanging around idle or would like to come hang out at my place at the beach, send them to me. I'm going to need all the muses I can get to crank this thing out and get it finished. -Caeria


	26. CH 25: History Lessons

Once again I've heard back from one beta but not the other one yet. As I'm an impatient sort I'm jumping the gun and posting without one beta's comments. Those of you who get a thrill at the opportunity of spotting mistakes are welcome to point them out and they will be duly corrected. Those of you who prefer clean and corrected versions of things will have to wait until I hear back from beta #2 and the story is posted at Ashwinder.

I would also just like to say – yeah me for sticking with the New Year's resolution and thanks to all those kind souls who sent chocolate cookie recipes and muses. The cookies are tasty and the muses helpful.

Thanks to Potion Mistress and Keladry for the beta work and Whitehound for the Brit-picking.

* * *

**Chapter 25: History Lessons**

When Hermione entered Snape's room the next morning, breakfast tray in hand, she was determined that today she'd make a better showing of herself than she'd done yesterday. She was going to be mature and self-possessed. Yesterday she'd felt like she was always one step behind him. Snape was not going to rattle her today.

"Granger."

She crooked a small smile at his bland, rather monotone greeting. 'Not a morning person' didn't even begin to cover Severus Snape. Then again, it was awfully light in the room for someone used to darker realms. _No wonder he's out of sorts. And with the no magic restrictions on him, he can't fix it himself and heaven help if he showed any weakness and asked for assistance. Idiot,_ although the last was thought with a fair amount of amused tolerance.

Handing over his breakfast tray, she headed over to the window. Debating for two seconds, she gave a swish of her wand and conjured a pair of medium-weight curtains. Immediately the room went from cheery, but rather blinding, to a more muted glow.

She didn't get any verbal thanks for her foolish wand-waving but she did note the softly-voiced sigh of appreciation. Hermione mentally chalked one up for S.N.O.R.T.

Keeping her manner subdued in deference to his usual morning grumpiness, Hermione went about checking the medicines Healer Alverez had left. Yesterday had been a potions-only day, but today would involve both potions and the salve that had to be spread across Professor Snape's spell burns.

She wasn't looking forward to that, feeling sure that Professor Snape would protest when it came time to treat him. Truth be told, it was going to be an uncomfortable situation for them both. While Hermione did her level best to forget that Snape was unclothed beneath his covering sheets, the thought tended to pop up at the oddest times. The fact that she was going to be spreading salve on his bare skin was going to mean that forgetting wasn't an option. She was going to be mature about the whole thing, even if it killed her. . . or he killed her, whichever came first.

Inventory complete, she palmed the small blue container of salve and returned to what she thought of as her chair. With nothing to occupy her mind though, the silence stretched and gathered around her in an oppressive weight.

For the first time since setting down the tray, Hermione saw Snape look up at her. He then glanced down at his plate and then back up at her, a calculating light in his eyes.

A bit of indignation rose. _Really, what was he thinking – that I'd poisoned his eggs or something?_

Resisting the urge to make a face at him, she cast about for something to distract her attention. Why didn't he talk? Ron and Harry were always going on . . . on about what girl had caught their eye, what was being served for dinner, about Quidditch and . . . and . . . well, often times about what a complete prat the man propped up on pillows across from her was.

All this silence was unnerving. Was she supposed to do something, say something? Really. They were stuck together for the foreseeable future, was a little polite conversation all that much to ask?

When the silence became the loudest sound Hermione thought she'd ever heard, she gave in. "How are you feeling today, sir?"

As that one damnable black brow rose, Hermione cursed a blue streak – if only in her head. She wasn't sure what she'd done, but she was positive that it was now S.N.O.R.T. 1, Snape 1.

Setting aside the empty tray, he said, "I am feeling rather rotten. As that situation is not likely to change anytime soon, I think we can dispense with any future repetitions of that question. Agreed?"

Again that brow rose, along with Hermione's ire. Repeating her resolve of maturity and self-possession, she gave him a tight smile. "Yes, sir."

That earned her what she considered Snape's smile-smirk. Which, if she was reading him correctly, meant that he was feeling pretty good, all things considered, even if he'd _said_ he was feeling rotten. Because the smile-smirk was marginally more smile than true smirk and she viewed it as a Snape**-**pleased expression rather than a Snape-plotting-your-demise expression.

Which meant that she probably ought to use his good mood while she had it.

"Professor, it's time to reapply the burn salve."

His pleased look immediately dropped into a heavy scowl. "Of course it is."

"Healer Alverez-"

"Yes, yes," he waved her off. "I am well aware of Healer Alverez's various edicts concerning my recuperation and your place in it." He paused and Hermione got the distinct impression that he was steeling himself for something unpleasant. "You may begin with the burns along my legs."

That was a surprise and much easier than she'd ever expected. She studiously ignored the part of her that was feeling let down at missing what she'd imagined to be a right good, and winnable for her, argument.

Taking a seat at the foot of the narrow bed, Hermione pulled out the jar and set it beside her. Having been drilled by Alverez on how sensitive Snape's skin and nerves were from the various curses and hexes he'd been hit with, Hermione very carefully lifted the sheet from Snape's feet and lower legs and folded it back so it rested just above his knees.

Her professor gave no comment and Hermione risked a glance up at him. He was staring straight up at the ceiling and studiously avoiding looking at her.

She felt the prickle of nervous sweat between her shoulder blades. It wasn't that she hadn't done this before, but he'd never been awake before. She knew how much Snape disliked being touched. This had to be particularly trying for him.

"Just get on with it, Granger," he snapped, though gritted teeth.

"Right. Get on with it," she murmured, more to herself than him.

Loosening the cork stopper, she was hit with the soothing odor of the herbs used in the preparation. Dipping in two fingers, she scooped up an oily glob of the stuff. As she'd done in the past when he'd been unconscious, she talked her way through each step. She'd done it then so he'd know, even if unconscious, that he was being cared for and that the touch he was feeling wasn't meant to inflict more pain. She did it now to try and ease the painfully tight tension within him.

"Starting with your left foot."

Using just her fingertips and with the lightest of touches, she spread the salve over the angry looking hex burn that circled his foot a few inches above his ankle before flaring upward in jagged peaks to mid-calf. Focusing on the task at hand, Hermione tried to forget the fact she was touching her teacher – her very naked teacher. The naked teacher who had surprisingly muscled calves, and fine-boned, almost elegant**-**looking feet, even if the decidedly boney ankles showed evidence of his unhealthy weight loss. Fine black hair tickled her fingertips as Hermione smoothed the salve over his calves.

A drop of sweat rolled down along her spine and she frantically searched for anything to say to fill the silence of the room.

"This is a very odd burn pattern." Her voice sounded loud in the silence.

"Boots," Snape grunted out, while still focused on the ceiling.

Grasping onto anything that would fill the void, Hermione started to ask the follow-up question to the enigmatic answer of 'boots'.

"How-"

Snape cut her off with an exasperated sigh. "I teach Potions to idiots." As that was a standard complaint with him, she wasn't even offended. "Potions are inherently dangerous and volatile, especially when completed incorrectly. I wear dragon hide boots, Granger, that are resistant to various levels of both acid and fire."

With Snape being distracted into 'teacher mode,' Hermione felt some of the tension leave the tight muscles beneath her fingertips.

"In addition, since dragons are by nature magical creatures, the hide also provides limited protection against spells. My feet were protected while the skin above my boots was not."

Hermione swallowed hard. He spoke with such dispassion, as if the torture he was relating hadn't been inflicted upon his own flesh. But he was talking and since she figured they both needed some distraction she asked a question she'd always been curious about.

"The headmaster says that we shouldn't be afraid of a name. That we should call" – she started to say Voldemort and then thought better of it – "You Know Who by his name. Why don't you call _him_ by his name?"

The muscles under her fingertips stiffened again and Hermione braced for the tirade. When he spoke his voice had gone cold. Eyes that had been staring upwards tracked down to pin her with a merciless stare. "I have already told you that I would tell you the truth of things. That I would not hold back the knowledge you needed in order to think about your circumstances. Think carefully on the questions you would ask me. Some doors once opened can never be closed again."

She had the distinct impression he was trying to scare her. "I want to understand." She bit her tongue before the word 'you' escaped.

Silence again.

When he didn't speak further, she tried to explain. "I've never understood how an entire society can be afraid of a _name_. No one's ever really explained."

"Muggle-born," he finally answered, as those eyes finally flickered away to resume their study of the ceiling and Hermione took in a deep, shaky breath. She wasn't sure if she should feel proud or terrified that the score was now S.N.O.R.T. 2, Snape 1.

Gathering every bit of her Gryffindor courage, she asked the next question. "How could being Muggle-born make any difference in this case? It's a name."

"No, Granger, it is not just a name. We are fools to teach you of Goblin Wars and not teach you of the time in which you live. When the Dark Lord rose to power the first time, he called himself by the name he took."

"Lord Vo-"

"Do not say it," he hissed. Pausing to take a deep breath he continued in a more normal tone. "But yes, he was called by that name. As he took more power and gathered his followers, he created his inner circle."

"The people who would become the Death Eaters."

"Eventually, yes. Many in those days that sought his favour, sought to be close to him. It was a feeling of basking in greatness, that you were at the center of something profound and earth-shattering that was going to change everything you thought you knew. Not all of those that sought the position got it. It was an earned place based on loyalty and how useful you were to him. In the end, those that proved their worth were given the Mark."

"I always thought that all of his followers carried the mark. Are you saying that we are trying to fight people who we can't even identify?"

"The world is never that simple. There are twenty-two of us, which I know about, that carry the Mark. There may be others that even I am not aware of. But there are hundreds of supporters who carry nothing but their ideology. Would _you_ build an army and then mark every follower so that your opponents could easily identify them?"

She flushed. "No. I never thought about it. Everyone just talks about the Death Eaters. But why mark them?"

"Because they" – those eyes caught hers again – "because we were special. Our loyalty was tested and proven. We were the elite. It was a badge of honour as much as anything. It didn't become . . . more until later."

The detachment she'd heard in his voice when he'd described his torture had been replaced with a self-mocking derision that made Hermione almost wish for the indifference. Had he ever spoken of these things to anyone but Dumbledore? Even then, she had to wonder, how often would this man burden the headmaster with his thoughts? Listening to him, she resolved all over again to be the confidante – the friend – that Snape so obviously needed.

"What changed?" she asked.

"The plan in those days was different than the current course of action the Dark Lord has embarked upon. He was human the first time – charismatic, and a natural leader. There was much talk about him becoming the Minster of Magic. In such a position of authority, he would have irrevocably changed the face of the wizarding world in England. I do not doubt that had he succeeded in his plans, he would have expanded out to encompass all the wizarding enclaves around the world within a few short years."

"He was that close?" she asked in surprise. She never even considered that Voldemort could have been that near to the completion of his goals.

"Close?" He gave a soft chuff of amusement. "He was already there. He controlled many of the key members of the Ministry and the Wizengamot."

Completely caught up in Snape's story, Hermione forgot about the salve, her hand coming to rest lightly on Snape's calf. "But if he had such a powerbase, what happened?" she asked. "How did he fail? How did the Order get involved?"

"Dumbledore happened. He saw where the Dark Lord was going. The headmaster, while not always able to see that which is right in front of him," – Hermionedetected old bitterness in his words as he spoke – "nevertheless, has a unique gift in seeing the larger, long-range patterns forming around him. I suspect that Miranda Vector had much to do with Dumbledore recognising the threat the Dark Lord posed. To combat that threat, Dumbledore gathered together those he thought could aid him in stopping the war he saw coming and took a stand."

"So for the first time, he met opposition."

That got her a ghost of a smile. "Very good. When Dumbledore shone light on the behind-the-scenes machinations that had been going on in the Ministry, public opinion began to turn. Wizarding society began to pull back from an individual who was being exposed as a dangerous radical."

"Dumbledore forced his hand."

"Indeed. Unfortunately, Dumbledore also miscalculated."

"Miscal . . ." she began, but stopped as she started putting together the pieces of everything Snape had been saying with what she knew of Voldemort's behavior. "Dumbledore thought he'd do one thingand he did something completely different."

Snape's lips pursed. Hermione could see him debating on whether or not to say what was on his mind.

"Sir?"

"I have found over the years, Granger, that the headmaster is almost infallible. Yet when he does fail, the consequences of that failure are often unimaginable."

Scooting to the edge of her seat, Hermione leaned forward. "What happened?"

"Since the more Slytherin tactics had failed, the Dark Lord turned to more obvious methods -- the raids were born and the terror killings began."

"But how does that related to your-" she gestured towards his arm. "And why no one says the Dark Lord's name."

"The Mark isn't simply a tattoo. It is a magical link between the one who created it and the ones who wears it. It links all those who wear to each other and ultimately to him. Because of that link, the Dark Lord is gifted with several abilities. It allows him to call the wearers to him as a sort of Apparation guide. The wearer of the Mark need not have any destination in mind -- they have only to follow the pull of the Mark. It also allows the Dark Lord limited access to the wearer's magic."

"Sort of like the Affinity we share."

"Yes and no. It forces a type of Affinity where he can use our magic as almost a pool of power that he can tap into. However, to do so, those wearing the Mark must be in close proximity to him."

"Which explains why he would want to call you to his side at a moment's notice."

Precisely. And lastly, the Mark provides the most effective tool in the Dark Lord's quest to instill fear in the wizarding population. It allows him to 'hear' when his name is spoken."

"What does that mean exactly?"

"It is not a listening device per se, but if you were to speak his name, the Mark on my arm would _recognise_ it, for lack of a better word. And in turn, the Dark Lord becomes aware of being spoken about."

"So everyone became afraid of saying his name. They didn't want to draw his attention because no one knew who might be carrying the Mark. If the wrong person overheard them, it could be a death sentence. That makes so much sense now."

And then a thought occurred to her. "But . . . but . . . that means that every time Dumbledore says his name while you're around . . . he's . . . ."

"He's taunting him, yes."

Hermione's eyes grew round with the implications as her thoughts raced with that last bit of news.

"That's completely irresponsible," she finally got out, outraged all over again. "Dumbledore's not the one that has to face him. The Dark Lord could take out his anger on you."

"It is a calculated risk."

"It's cra-"

"Calculated, Granger. As so many things are," he said dryly. "Now, I do believe we are done with your history lesson. If you finished feeling me up?" he asked, pointedly looking to where her hand still rested again his leg.

Hastily snatching it back, she fought the blush she could feel rising in her cheeks. "Fine," she said, giving in somewhat less than gracefully. "But I'm not finished. I need to turn you so I can get the burns across your back."

"Have your skills at _Moblicorpus_ improved since I last saw you dragging poor Miss Stuart through the halls of the Hogwarts?"

"I was not dragging . . . oh, you are doing it again. I will not be baited."

"As you say, Granger."

"Yes, I do say," she snapped back at him with more cheek than was probably prudent. But he did no more than raise a mocking brow at her which set her to fuming. She wanted to level a _Moblicorpus_ at him that second but he'd raised her doubts now. If she dropped him or even set him down too hard, she could cause him a lot of pain. _Damn the man_.

"Rink!" she called.

Rink appeared almost immediately at her side. Flashing Snape a pleased smirk, she said, "I need to attend to Professor Snape's injuries on his back. Can you please turn him over to his stomach without jarring him?"

Snape's eyes widened and then narrowed down into slits. "Now see here, Granger. I will not be man-handled, or elf-handled, for that matter."

"Moving the Master is no problem for Rink, Miss."

He'd then turned a widen-eyed glare on Snape with the admonishment of "Miss must be taking care of Master," although Rink made that pronouncement from the rather dubious safety of her legs.

Before Snape could even begin to further his protest, he was raised, flipped, and gently set back down. Rink had vanished post-haste; probably for the safety of the kitchen if Hermione was to guess.

"Since when does _my_ house-elf take orders from you?" Snape ground out, his tone irritated, and slightly muffled, by the pillow Snape was now speaking against. "You did not exactly mention _that_ yesterday."

Hermione set about folding back the sheet from her shoulders and back. "It's a new development, she answered, making sure to keep any amusement out of her voice. "I asked Dumbledore and he says it's because the elves in the house see me as the head of the Granger house line."

She scowled in aggravation. "Technically, that's my mother, but since she's Muggle, it's also me in some weird sort of way. And since none of the other residents of Grimmauld Place, including Professor Dumbledore since he's only the steward for the Hogwarts line, are house-elf owners, the elves all look to me for instructions."

Snape chuckled darkly. "A fact, no doubt, that is driving Molly Weasley around the twist."

Hermione sighed in agreement. "They took over the kitchen and won't let her back in. She glares at me a lot whenever the subject comes up."

Leaning over to get a better look, Hermione traced a fingertip around the edge of one of the burns. "These are healing well, sir," Hermione told him, smoothing on a layer of the salve.

A number of older hex scars were concentrated under his right shoulder blade. She wanted to ask him about them but figured that she had used up her allotment of personal questions for the day. He'd been remarkably accommodating of her, and she didn't want to push the delicate relationship they were building.

Snape shifted, raising himself up on forearms so he could look over his shoulder at her.

"Tell me about Potter."

Hermione blinked in surprise, before grinning at her professor in excitement. He hadn't forgotten.

"You're really going to help me?"

He lowered himself back down to the pillow. "It would seem that I have nothing better to do than lie here. However, amendable as I am to fixing Mr. Potter, you and I both know that he will not listen to anything I have to say to him. This will require your intervention, and as loath as I am to suggest it, Mr. Weasley's as well."

Snape shifted again as Hermione smeared some of the salve across his ribs. _Ticklish_ a part of noted with a grin. She was wise enough to withhold any comment on the fact though. She did say, "Ron is better with Harry than you'd imagine."

"Is he?"

"Actually, I think Ron is better with Harry than I am. Harry still listens to Ron, but I just seem to make him angrier."

"I would hazard that your involvement with me has not helped your relationship."

"I think Harry was glad in the beginning that I was being punished. But it's odd, in a way. He knows that I've been tasked with taking care of you, but he gets angry when I do things that involve taking care of you."

"And what of Mr. Weasley?"

She gave a short laugh. "Ron's been a rock. I mean, Harry seems to get mad at Ron too, but it doesn't usually last long and even then, Ron seems to be able to get Harry to snap out of it."

That seemed to catch Snape's attention. "How?" he asked.

"I'm not sure really. It's not that he really does or says anything. Mostly, I've just seen him touch him. Ron will put his hand on Harry's back or take hold of his arm. That seems to work most times. Is that significant?"

"Everything is significant and connected. Part of getting you to think is also seeing the connections between things. What did I tell you about dark magic?"

Hmm . . ." she paused, thinking back. "You said magic like the Unforgivables was hard to do and that it took great conviction of purpose and used up a lot of magical energy. You also said that dark magic was taking the easy way out. That's a bit of a contradiction, isn't it?"

"Magic is at its essence about contradiction. The strongest healing potions use the most poisonous ingredients. Charms create something out of nothing. Transfiguration modifies the very essence of one object into another."

Snape shifted again and grunted in annoyance as he tried to move. "Call back Rink and turn me to rights. I refuse to have this conversation while talking into a pillow."

It took only a few moments for Rink to get Snape properly situated again while Hermione put away the burn salve and prepared the rest of his potions. Snape eyed them with distaste when she brought two vials over to him.

Uncorking one, he tossed it back in one smooth swallow. "As I was saying, magic is about contradictions but what I meant about taking the easy way out is that certain emotions can be used to fuel the darker spells – hate, anger, revenge – these are typically more easily accessed within the human psyche. The slippery slope of dark magic is that the very part of you that generates magic is more often than not linked with your emotions. The use of Unforgivables irrevocably scars those emotions. If you are a believer, you might say that it mars your very soul. The damage done inevitably leaves traces behind."

"What kind of traces?"

He shrugged and then drank the second vial before he answered. "Emotional instability is one of the surest indicators. Megalomania, paranoia, and madness are others."

Feeling the need to defend her friend, she said, "Harry's irritable, he's not mad."

"Your body and your magic falls into the patterns you teach it. You can't _Imperio_ without intent to control another. It's a tremendous drain on your magic. So you turn to powerful emotions in order to get that power. You pick hate because hate is easy and you hate the individual you want to control. You find it easy now. Next time around, you have another person that needs to be controlled. You don't particularly hate this person but you remember how it felt the last time. So you imagine the previous person and the hate comes boiling back up again. Soon, hate is linked with the spell. Soon, you find that even the smallest of things brings the hate back to you. Soon, it is controlling you, rather than you controlling it."

There is was again – that cold indifference. She knew that he was describing himself as much as Harry now and she shivered. "Where does Ron fit?"

"Mr. Weasley breaks the pattern. Every time he touches Potter, he is an instant reminder of positive feelings – of trust and companionship."

"And love," she added.

Snape grimaced but agreed. "And love."

"You don't believe in the power of love?"

"The headmaster will tell you that it is the greatest power."

"Don't you don't believe him?"

"While love may be a powerful, it is not necessarily kind. It also, more often than not, requires sacrifices in exchange."

"Most people would argue that the sacrifices are worth it."

"Most people are idiots and have never had to pay those consequences."

Snape leaned back into his pillows and closed his eyes. "I'm tired now, Granger. Come back after lunch and we will continue."

He was dismissing her. Something about their conversation was really disturbing him, even more than the talk of Voldemort and the Dark Mark had earlier. Hermione wanted to protest and push. Six months previously, she would have. Now, she just gathered up the empty tray and promised to return at lunch.

She had a lot to think about – about Ron and Harry and herself. She had a lot to think about regarding Snape and everything she'd learned. Looking back at the man, she had to wonder, _Who was your pattern breaker and what happened to them?_

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Well, I thought that all the talking was over and done with but it turns out that once Hermione was finally able to talk, she wouldn't stop. The whole chapter came across as one big lecture to me, but there are some lovely clues tossed in there about future chapters if you can find them.


	27. Ch 26: Ron's Big Entrance

Dun Dun Dun Dunnnnnnnn. Yes, it is another chapter. For those of you who are feeling faint at the rapid appearance of this chapter -- Do Not Panic. Just find a quiet place to sit down, put your head between your knees, and take a few deep breaths. The vertigo feeling will fade.

Shallicoe has agreed to lend her eyes and editing skills to _Pet Project_. Give her a big old round of applause. Thanks as usual to my beta Keladry and to Whitehound. Keladry puts up with a lot and Whitehound just started mentioning a few Brit-picks and then got drafted while she wasn't looking. Speaking of which – Whitehound, just to make it all official, would you like an advanced copy to do your picking with instead of having to read after the fact?

A message to NS. I truly don't mind criticism of the story. You raised some good points in your feedback (some of which I agreed with and some I didn't) but as your thoughts are based on what you are perceiving in the story I wished I had a way to discuss those perceptions with you. I understand that some people feel uncomfortable with signing their name to a critical review so send me a private message or an email, if you want. I promise to neither bite nor cry.

Last but not least, once again, I've jumped the gun (because I'm notoriously impatient) and I am posting this chapter without returns from all of my betas. This means, that like previous chapters, this chapter will contain more than its fair share of errors. If you wish to read error free, please wait until the chapter shows up on Ashwinder ( ashwinder . sycophanthex . com / index . php)

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Chapter 26: Ron's Big Entrance 

Hermione went back down the stairs with a much heavier step than when she'd arrived earlier that morning. She recognised the cosmic irony in that. Most people would have gone to Snape's room with dread and left with glad hearts and quick feet.

Rounding the landing, she heard the painting of Mrs Black give an exaggerated sniff of disdain and a muttered, "Mudblood wretch! About time you realised your station as a servant."

_Insane old harridan,_ she thought.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione dropped into her best _Upstairs, Downstairs_ curtsey. "Yes, ma'am." She had found that if she humoured the painting it cut down tremendously on subsequent screeching. It also amused her that the painting seemed to have no idea that Hermione was mocking it.

Her actions earned her another sniff but no yelling. Counting it as a victory, she continued on down the stairs where she caught the sound of laughter coming from the library. She vaguely remembered Tonks yelling about mail call earlier, but she'd been so caught up in the history Snape was telling her that she'd dismissed it.

She contemplated sticking her head in to see if anything had come for her, but knew if she did the room would go silent. It wasn't that everyone was still mad at her, just Harry. It was just that no one seemed to know how to talk to her anymore. It was a circumstance that was as much, if not more, her fault rather than anyone else's. She'd not really made any effort to integrate herself back in to the social atmosphere of those that came and went at Grimmauld Place. At first, she'd been concentrating on the unconscious Professor Snape. But now that he was awake, and she had more free time, it was hard to re-engage with everyone.

It just wasn't worth the effort, she decided, and then suddenly wondered if that was how Snape felt. She was positive he felt isolated at times. Most people disliked him, although that seemed a deliberate choice on his part. Well, she amended, maybe not completely a choice since it covered up a lot of his spying activities. But then when he wanted to reach out and connect, he was left trying to fight against his own reputation.

Shaking her head at the unfairness of it all, she turned towards the stairs leading down to the kitchen.

Brolly and Pella, the two elves that had taken over the kitchen, crowded close as she stepped through the door. Having already been through this with all of Snape's other meals, Hermione lowered the tray enough so that both elves could see the dishes and what did, and didn't, remain in them.

Pella clucked her tongue, while her ears folded forward in what Hermione had come to recognise as pleasure. "Told Hermy that Master would like that porridge with bananas better than cinnamon."

Hermione laughed. "Pella, you are a kitchen elf without equal. I should never have doubted you. And, he ate the whole bowl which is a vast improvement over the cinnamon. He was leaving some of that behind. I'm thinking maybe tomorrow we can offer some cut-up fruit. You have anything that's not too acidic?"

Both ears went back before they swept sharply down. "Pella will find _perfect_ fruit for the Master of Potions."

_Challenge accepted,_ Hermione thought with a hidden grin. Snape would have the freshest, best-tasting fruit in all of Britain tomorrow morning.

Satisfied that Snape was eating their food, Brolly and Pella returned to the lunch and dinner preparations, leaving Hermione to deal with Snape's dirty dishes. Of course, they only let her do that in her role as Hermy. Hermione had found that being Hermy had both good and bad aspects. The good was that she could do things for herself, and for Snape, without completely scandalizing the elves. The bad was that she got referred to as Hermy, a habit that the other elves had picked up from Rink. Thank goodness they only did it when she was 'working'. She really didn't want to hear the teasing she'd get if Ron, or heaven help her, the twins, ever heard her referred to by her house-elf name. There would be no living that down.

She was actually rather glad to do the dishes though. She had found that manual labor had benefits over the use of magic. It allowed her hands to keep busy and her mind to roam free to whatever topic had currently caught her fancy – hot water and suds – the Zen of dishwashing.

Moving to the sink, she dumped in Snape's dishes and grabbed up a few others that were still sitting around from breakfast. Brolly looked up at her, and blinked a few times, but didn't say anything as he went back to his own work.

Wrist deep in hot water and bubbles, she went over the conversation with Snape in her head. There was much there to think about in what he'd told her. His history was both horrible and fascinating, even inspiring in parts. Again, she had to wonder about the person – or maybe it had just been an event – that had broken his downward spiral into Dark magic use. She knew of three times when she'd seen him lose the tight grip he usually kept on himself and let loose his temper: the night with Sirius in the Shrieking Shack and later in the infirmary, that early morning months ago when she'd run into him in the hallway outside the Hogwarts library, and the night in the kitchen when she'd first told Snape her suspicions about Harry. He'd been frightening in his rage each time. Now, Hermione had a context in which to put his anger and understood so it so much better.

Harry was going down that path now. She had no proof that he was playing with Dark magic, but she _knew_, deep down in her gut, what Harry was doing and it filled her with a profound sadness. She had no doubt that Harry was doing it because he thought it was the only way to defeat Voldemort. And with the prophecy that they had all heard, she knew that Harry would do whatever he thought he had to do to make sure the prophecy became reality.

In that moment, she hated Dumbledore. Usually, she was pragmatic enough to intellectually, if not emotionally, understand the choices the headmaster had made. But she wasn't sure she could easily forgive what he'd done to her friend. You could argue that Snape was a grown man and had made his own choices, but Harry hadn't been given much of a choice at all.

_Oh, Harry_.

The sad part of it all was that for all that Harry hated and distrusted Snape, he was following right along in Snape's footsteps – making the same mistakes and falling into the same traps. Harry had once told them that the Sorting Hat had almost put him into Slytherin. Knowing everything she knew now, Hermione had to wonder if maybe that would have been a better choice. He could have respected and trusted Snape, and the man could have steered Harry clear of problems, or at least could have been around to teach him to learn from his own mistakes.

So much would have been different if Harry had trusted Snape instead of doubting him, and casting him into the role of antagonist at each turn – the Philosopher's stone, the opening of the Chamber of Secrets, the aborted Occlumency lessons, the disastrous trip to the Ministry the night Sirius died . . . so many things could have been otherwise.

_What a complete waste_.

But what was done, was done. She and Ron, with a little help from Snape, were going to help Harry now, even if he didn't particularly want to be saved.

Of course, that led directly into a different problem – Ron and Snape. Ron didn't outright hate Snape the way that Harry did, but he most definitely disliked him. The aversion that had built up over the past six years was going to be hard to overcome. She had no idea how to make that work. Maybe she should ask the professor his thoughts on that one. Gryffindor frontal-assault tactics weren't going to cut it. Perhaps a more Slytherin approach was in order.

Thinking of Ron made her think about Snape's other comments concerning Ron. It made sense that Ron had the influence to break Harry out of his cycles of anger and magic. With a shock of guilt, she realised that if she had never gotten involved with Snape, she'd probably be that kind of person for Harry too. She had been at one time, she realised, thinking back to her and Ron's intervention. It was her confrontation with Harry, complete with finger in his chest, that had broken him out of his rant. And there was that guilt again. A part of Harry didn't trust her anymore – wouldn't let her be there for him. All because of Professor Snape.

Dipping back into the hot water, she picked up another plate.

* * *

Professor Vector found Hermione in the kitchen putting away Snape's breakfast dishes while two house-elves bustled around the space preparing other food. As Vector settled herself at the long kitchen table, a cup of her favourite tea and a small plate of chocolate biscuits were soon set before her, the elves not even missing a beat in their other preparations. 

"The house-elves seem to be accepting your presence among them very well," she said to Hermione, after taking a bite of one of the biscuits.

Not really wanting to explain her relationship with the elves, Hermione gave a small shrug. "We've come to an understanding." Looking up, she flashed the two kitchen elves a rueful smile before adding, "I still get disapproving looks though if I try to get too involved."

Almost to prove her point, one elf gave her a narrow-eyed look before taking away the tray that had been sitting on the table. Rather than fight the inevitable, Hermione just shook her head and surrendered gracefully. Taking a seat at the table, Hermione soon had a cup of tea and an even larger plate of biscuits sitting in front of her.

"You're looking a little distressed. Snape duties not going well?" Vector asked.

Hermione did not fail to notice that this was asked kindly and without the usual derision that sounded when most people asked about Snape.

Hermione hesitated, and then said, "Can I ask you something? Something personal, I mean?"

Vector studied her over the rim of her cup for a moment before answering, "You may. I don't promise to answer."

Hermione nodded, satisfied with the response. "Do you like Professor Snape?" At Vector's somewhat startled expression, she hastily added, "Oh, I don't mean like . . . you could like him like that. There's nothing wrong with that. Professor Snape is . . . is . . ."

Vector gave up trying to keep a straight face and let out a peal of laughter. "Stop. Please stop," she begged, holding up a hand in entreaty.

Blushing furiously, Hermione snapped her mouth closed and dropped her head into her hands. "That did not come out the way I intended."

"Obviously," chuckled Vector. "Before I answer you, answer me a question: why do you want to know?"

Reluctantly, Hermione raised her head up. "Professor Snape has agreed to mentor me. I guess you'd call it lessons in critical thinking."

"That's an admirable goal and something that people don't do as much of as they probably should."

"Professor Snape would agree with you," Hermione said with a small smile. "The professor also told me that you can't think critically until you have all the information. He's been kind enough to answer some questions for me."

"Ah, I begin to see your problem. With answers, come more questions. You are beginning to form you own opinions about things that you've never had doubts about in the past like . . . ." Vector let the word trail off, inviting Hermione to fill in the blanks.

"Like Professor Snape."

Vector made a non-committal noise which Hermione took as a sign to continue.

"Professor Snape is-" Hermione blushed. "I'm sure you've heard the other students at Hogwarts talk."

Vector nodded. "Professor Snape's reputation is well known. He is not an especially soft or easy man."

"Exactly," Hermione agreed, thankful that Vector seemed to understand what she was trying to say. "He's seems to be that way with everyone, even people here in the Order. But, I've also seen him be cordial and almost nice. It's just that some people seem to get . . well . . . ."

"Seem to get better treatment?" Vector finished for her.

Hermione nodded.

Vector gave another short laugh. "To answer your first question – impertinent though it is – yes, I like Severus Snape. To fill in that lovely hole you dug for yourself, no, I don't like him _that_ way – the headmaster's poor attempts at matchmaking aside."

Hermione felt an embarrassed flush creeping up her neck. "I didn't mean-"

"I know. Professor Snape, as I'm sure you know, doesn't suffer fools gladly. But I have worked with him on many projects over the years. During those times, I've typically found him to be an often witty, acerbic, demanding, and tough professional colleague. I can not say, however, that I am his friend. Truthfully, I'm not sure that Professor Snape has any friends. I used to wonder about that. Having his role confirmed within the Order of the Phoenix has explained a lot of the questions I've had about Snape over the years.

"Allow me to give you a bit of reassurance and maybe a little advice. Severus Snape has patience for very few people in this world. That he has deemed you worthy of his time speaks volumes. Be proud of that accomplishment, for very few people have earned his regard. So there was the reassurance. Here's the advice – let him teach you. For all his bite, you'll not find a better teacher. But remember that Snape is Snape. Don't expect him to be your friend, you'll just wind up tying yourself in knots."

Vector set her cup back down with a decisive click of porcelain cup against plate. "Now, to the reason I was actually looking for you. We were talking the other night about the equations I've been using. Are you still interested in seeing the matrix more closely? I've finally got a workspace set up."

Deciding that maybe getting her swirling thoughts off Ron and Harry and Snape might do her some good, Hermione told Vector she was still very interested.

"Are you available now?"

"Sure, Professor."

"Good. Grab the biscuits and we'll be off. I've commandeered an empty room on the second floor."

A few minutes later, Hermione was entering the oddest workspace she'd ever seen: not a single piece of furniture remained in the former bedroom. The walls had been covered in chalkboards and there was a small pile of broken chalk pieces in the middle of the empty floor.

Vector spotted her eyeing the room.

"I work best with less clutter," she explained. "Feel free to conjure yourself a chair." Then with a complicated wave of her wand, Vector re-created the multi-colored matrix that Hermione had seen in the Order meeting.

The slowing spinning lines of color captured her full attention. "It's beautiful."

"It is, isn't it," Vector agreed. "I know we aren't at Hogwarts, but why don't we review a little first? It will help you with the higher order equations." Another wave of her wand and a small chalkboard appeared, floating in midair. "Here we have the numerology charts for three. Three, and its multiples, play an extremely important part within the equations."

"You covered threes during second year. But with this many people involved, wouldn't seven have been a greater power number?"

"_Usually," _Vector said, stressing the word. "However, any good arithmancer, in fact any good researcher really, always keeps an open mind to whatever the equations are telling them, not the numbers they are expecting. That's where many arithmancer's go wrong. They come in with preconceived numbers and force the equations to match those numbers. Those types of results are never as accurate as they could be."

Vector pointed to several of the other boards. "Here and here and most definitely here. Tell me what you see."

Hermione studied the equations. They were more elaborate than anything they had studied in class but as she stared at them, she could see some of the underlying basics. Checking her work back against the smaller blackboard with the numerology chart, Hermione began to see the pattern of threes that Vector had mentioned.

"Harry, Ron and I," she said. "Three times denied – that's from the prophecy." Pointing to another equation, she added, "Professor Dumbledore and the Dark Lord" – using Snape's terminology for Voldemort – "and Professor Snape." The last said with surprise.

"Professor Snape acts like the equal sign in many of my equations. He is the balance point between either side."

Her curiosity got the better of her. "Which is his line representation?"

"The grey one. For the longest time, he was represented simply as the Order's spy. I was actually rather surprised at how little the matrix changed once I named him."

Hermione didn't say anything but knew that in equations where a true name didn't dramatically affect the outcome, that usually meant that the person's professional or title was as much a part of them as their name. She felt a burst of sympathy for Snape at that – that his life as a spy had become so much a part of him that it was now an almost indistinguishable part of who and what he was.

Vector used her wand as a pointer. "Here is the line for the Order of the Phoenix. Here, You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters."

Hermione followed the lines with her eyes to where everything seemed too cross. "That's the coming confrontation."

"I call it the Final Battle," Vector said with a grimace. "It's a right stupid name – the battle between good, and those who would destroy good, is never just over in one great battle. But I couldn't keep calling it 'that point where all the lines converge and lots of things happen'."

She gave a bit of a mocking laugh at Hermione's startled expression. "Yes, I'm being rather flip about it, but if you stare at the equations long enough and start charting out just how destructive this has the potential to be . . . well, Final Battle is easier to say and sounds like some ancient heroic battle rather than the disaster for the wizarding world my equations predict it could be."

"Oh," Hermione said.

Vector pointed again. "You might find these lines interesting. They map various individuals that we believe will have strong influences. Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley are represented, as are you, each separately and together, as we have noticed over the years that you work best as a team when confronting problems."

Hermione focussed back on Snape's convoluted and rather serpentine thread through the matrix then noticed her own path connecting with his. "You said this is me?" she asked, pointing to a line.

"Yes."

"I cross Professor Snape." She wasn't sure why that surprised her, but it did.

Vector laughed again. "You yourself told me that Professor Snape has agreed to mentor you. Add in the forced interaction of you providing care for him until he's up and about . . . it only makes sense that it shows up here."

"I guess." She felt rather uncomfortable with the knowledge, almost as though she'd been spied on.

Hermione studied the lines more, mapping out where each crossed and making mental notes about the questions she wanted to ask Professor Vector. Comparing the lines back to the equations, she could see how and why Vector had done her mappings the way she had but some of the higher order mathematics were things she'd not yet been taught. She'd come back to those spots later.

Seeing another interesting line, she started following it. It seemed to be following her and Snape through the matrix. Reaching out again, she touched a finger to the line . . . and suddenly the entire matrix shifted.

Tracing across she tried to pinpoint the change and something like ice water ran down her spine as she found the change. Where her line continued past the point Vector was calling the Final Battle, Snape's had disappeared.

"What just happened?" she asked, her voice sharp in her own ears.

Vector looked up from where she'd been making a modification to one of the base equations. It took a few seconds to see the change at which Hermione was staring. "Merlin's balls," she swore. "It hasn't done that in a while." Turning back to her board, she scrubbed out her change with the side of her fist and Snape's line leapt back into existence.

Hermione's heart was pounding. That a life could be so easily snuffed out . . .

"You killed Professor Snape."

"Not hardly. I changed the probability reading to something where it was likely he would not survive, but this is not set in stone. It's not the only possible outcome and I certainly don't control events, only find the most likely scenarios so that we can choose the best course of action that results in the least amount of death."

"If it's only probabilities, how are you accounting for the random movement of-" Hermione stopped as Brolly appeared suddenly in the room.

Giving a small bow to Professor Vector, he turned his attention to Hermione. "Pella says Miss is to come to the kitchens. The Master of Potion's lunch is needing attention."

Glancing at her watch, Hermione noted the time. She hadn't realised so much time had passed. "Thank you, Brolly. I'll head down to the kitchens."

When the house-elf has disappeared, Hermione turned a rueful smile to Vector. "Sorry Professor Vector but duty calls." She gestured to the spinning matrix. "Can I come back? This is really fascinating and I'd love to ask you some more questions about how you mapped this out."

Vector gave her a broad smile. "If you are interested, you are more than welcome to come back. Not many really enjoy Arithmancy."

Hermione headed for the door and tossed a "Thanks Professor" over her shoulder as she left.

* * *

Putting lunch together took a little longer than Hermione had anticipated. Pella had made Snape a barley and mushroom soup and Hermione had worried that the spices might be too much. After doing some taste testing, and receiving some smug looks from Pella, Hermione had agreed that the soup would work. 

The wizarding world, Hermione had decided, was woefully uninformed about house-elves. They might present as shy, retiring and subservient, but Hermione suspected that few people had ever tried to cross a head kitchen elf while she was in her own kitchen.

Balancing the food tray against her hip, Hermione headed up the stairs. Approaching Snape's door, she was surprised to find it cracked open a few inches. She knew that she'd left it closed. Knowing that Snape could not have opened it, she was curious as to who was visiting the Potions master. Drawing closer to the door, she was startled to hear Vector's laughter and completely shocked to hear Snape's rich baritone sound right after.

Unable to stop herself, she sidled closer to the doorway so she could hear the conversation within, suddenly afraid that Vector was telling Snape about her questions earlier regarding him.

Within she could hear Snape talking.

"So the elf just brought you here?"

"Oh yes. You should have seen Albus' face," Vector said, laughing again. "He was right in the middle of telling the poor fellow that he wasn't going anywhere and the next thing I know, we're both standing in the foyer. I don't think I've ever seen him that caught off guard before in my life. And then right on the heels of that, to have Healer Alverez storm in. It was not a good day for the headmaster."

"As it was my life that was saved, I find that I cannot feel sorry for him."

The words were rather sharp but even out in the hallway Hermione could hear the humor in Snape's voice. He was enjoying his conversation with Vector. It was a realisation that made a place in her chest twinge oddly.

"Well, I can say that I'm rather glad it worked out as it did with you still breathing. It would have meant a ton of re-work for me, you know."

"We wouldn't want that."

"Trust me, we wouldn't. But that does bring up the reason I stopped by. Since you missed the presentation earlier I gave to the Order, I want to come by later and show you what I've done. I think you can help me refine the equations, especially those dealing with You-Know-Who and the various Death Eaters."

"I believe my calendar is empty for the evening."

"Oh, and I want to involve Miss Granger."

"Whatever for?"

"She mentioned that you were acting as her mentor; doing some critical thinking."

"I am."

"If we survive all this, I'm thinking of offering her an apprenticeship. "

Hermione was so stunned she almost didn't hear the next part of what Vector was saying. "She's got a good head on her shoulders for Arithmancy. Most Mugge-borns do since they come from a more mathematically and scientifically oriented background than wizard-borns. She's been top of her Arithmancy class from the day she stepped into the classroom."

"And what do you think, Miss Granger? Would you like an apprenticeship?"

Hermione froze, fighting down the urge to run. Not that she had anywhere to run, Snape knew she was outside. Pulling together her courage, she titled her chin up and entered the room.

Snape was propped up in his bed with one eyebrow cocked. Vector was sitting in her chair with a bemused expression on her face.

"I was just delivering your lunch, sir," hoping that a good defense would save her.

"Two things: one, if you are going to skulk outside doors-"

"I was not skulking."

"If you are going to _skulk_ outside doors, do not carry soup that sensitive noses can smell. And two, never stand where your shadow will cross the doorframe. Now, you said something about delivering my lunch?"

Silently fuming, but unable to counter what he was saying because she had been caught eavesdropping, Hermione set the tray to hovering over his lap. Oddly enough, Hermione got the impression that Snape wasn't angry with her, but rather pleased with himself. But then she supposed that the Head of Slytherin would be well used to students who tried to gather a little illicit information.

Vector's expression was now openly amused. "I'll be going now. Miss Granger, think about the offer. I think you have the potential to be a very good arithmancer. Snape, I'll come by later and we can go over the matrixes." With a nod for each of them, she stepped out of the door.

"Are you planning on standing there, or are you going to sit?"

_He's just trying to rile me, _she reminded herself as she took a seat.

Snape cautiously took a spoonful of soup, contemplated its taste for a moment before giving a nod. He dipped his spoon down into the bowl again. "I've given some consideration to how we will enlist Mr. Weasley's assistance."

"I was thinking about that earlier as well," she said, surprised that his thoughts had been going along the same path as her own.

"Then we will have to compare notes."

* * *

Hermione found Ron making low sweeps on his broom out in the garden. The twisting, acrobatic moves made her stomach curl in nauseating ways just from watching him. Not wanting to break his concentration, and risk him falling, she waited somewhat patiently until he spotted her. 

A huge grin plastered across his freckled face, Ron flew over to hover right in front of her, his toes just brushing the ground.

"Hermione, did you see that last move? Absolutely killer. No way is Slytherin going to get a ball past me this year."

She gifted Ron with a smile. She might not be all that enthused about Quidditch or flying, but his excitement was contagious and made her happy for him. "Well done, Ron."

"Did you need something?"

"Actually, yes, I wanted to ask you a favour. Is Harry with Dumbledore?"

Ron grimaced. "Yes, one of their super secret meetings, though I don't get what's so secret about Professor Dumbledore telling Harry about You-Know-Who."

Hermione had known Ron a long time. He was trying to hide it but she could still hear the hurt in his voice from being excluded from Harry's special lessons. It didn't matter that Ron, now knowing the full extent of the prophecy that tied Harry and Voldemort together, knew why Harry got the special treatment. Emotions, after all, were rarely logical.

She knew Ron loved Harry as his best friend, but that didn't mean that he didn't also feel ignored sometimes in the Harry Potter shadow.

"So, what's the favour?"

"Professor Snape is confined to bed and is rather bored," she began, only to be cut off by a wide-eyed, and rather horror-stricken Ron.

"Oh no. No. No. No. No. I'm not watching the big bat."

"Ronald Weasley, I'm not asking you to watch Professor Snape. I'm not even asking you to talk to him. I'm trying to ask you to go play chess with him. I've certainly watched enough of your matches in the Gryffindor common room to know that you can go several games straight and do nothing more than utter monosyllabic grunts at your opponent. I've also listened to you whine often enough about not having a challenging opponent. I think we can both agree that Professor Snape could, in all probability, give you a good match.

"Do you even know if he plays? I've never seen him play at Hogwarts?"

"Yes, he plays," she snapped back in exasperation, but didn't elaborate on her knowledge. She was not telling Ron that the chess game idea had been Snape's or that she'd been in Snape's room several months back and had seen a chessboard set up in mid-play on a side table.

"Will you do it? Please?"

Looking thoroughly dejected, Ron grumbled out a less-than-heartfelt, "Fine. But you owe me, Hermione."

She gave him brilliant smile. "Thanks Ron. It'll be worth it. I promise."

* * *

**Author's Note**: I have broken one of the rules of writing. I'm having the killer pull out a gun without first letting the audience know that there was a gun in the desk drawer to begin with. Well, not a gun exactly, but a chess set that should have been described waaaay back in the chapter where Rink takes Hermione to Snape's room to put the sleeping sheets on his bed. _hangs head in shame _I'm bad. 


	28. Ch 27: Chess Match of Doom

_**Long Author's Note. Feel free to skip.**_

sigh I know it's been forever since I updated. Except for Keladry (All Hail Keladry!!) I don't even know if those who were beta-ing for me are even still reading. Is anyone still reading? I'm not even sure I'd still be reading if I wasn't writing this thing.

So . . . the long delay. I have no excuse except that I just couldn't write. However, a long vacation in the woods and canyons of Utah seems to have helped reconnect me with my muse. My promise from before still stands – I am going to finish this thing before year end.

I've also dipped a little toe into the water of live journal. I'll be putting out update notices and grousing about the fic writing process there if anyone is interested. Live journal: http : / caeria . livejournal . com / I'm still finding my way around lj so give me a bit before you expect anything great on the site. –Caeria

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* * *

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**Chapter 27: Chess Match of Doom**

Hermione was eager to get back to talking to Professor Snape after her meeting with Ron, but between the warm soup, his afternoon potions, and hopefully her sheets, Snape had dozed off in her absence. As getting Snape to rest was one of S.N.O.R.T.'s primary goals, Hermione didn't begrudge him the sleep.

Heading back to the kitchen, she got a bit of late lunch for herself instead and returned to Snape's room. She supposed she could have gone down to the library, but she found herself hanging out quite often in Snape's room in much the way she'd hung around the Gryffindor common room. Snape had never mentioned her spending her off-duty hours in his rooms, but then he'd never kicked her out either. An action she knew he wouldn't hesitate to perform if he was bothered by her presence.

So, settling into her chair with an egg salad sandwich, she pulled out her book of the moment. It was a treaty on Magical Theory: the same subject Professor Vector had suggested as reading material for Snape. She'd actually meant to give the book to him, but hadn't been able to resist the urge to open it and read a few pages first. She's instantly been hooked on the fascinating information. She'd even come across annotated references to the concept of Affinity. Once she finished the book, she planned on seeking out the older original works.

Tucking her feet up under her, Hermione thought to lose herself in the words only to find her mind too restless to concentrate on the book. When she'd read the same paragraph three times, she finally gave up. Slipping in a bookmark, she closed the book and let it rest in her lap, laughing softly at herself. She knew the bookworm reputation she had. Wouldn't her Housemates be surprised to find Hermione Granger with too much on her mind to read?

It wasn't that she didn't have a lot to think about**, **though,with Professor Vector's offer of an apprenticeship. The offer had both surprised and thrilled her. It was everything she could have hoped for her future. Good Arithmancers were a rare commodity in the wizarding world, and Hermione knew, without arrogance, that she could be a very good Arithmancer. To learn the things that Vector could teach her would ensure her place in the wizarding world by giving her avenues of access into almost every career path available to her, including most branches of the Ministry, if she was inclined in that direction.

Her decision was easy, and she'd wanted to say "Yes" immediately when Vector had made the offer. She knew that there had been a time when she would have made that leap without hesitation. Now, she'd held back. She'd wanted to give herself time to properly consider and evaluate and think.

_Not quite the proper Gryffindor anymore, am I,_ she thought with a wry smile. Proper Gryffindor, indeed. Looking over to the sleeping man across from her, she knew he was the reason she wasn't _proper_ anymore. She couldn't say she minded, either. He'd taught her so much. She had no doubt he could teach her even more.

Letting her gaze linger on Snape, she evaluated his condition, something she couldn't do when he was awake and watching her with those dark eyes of his. The enforced bed rest and regular meals were obviously good for him. The dark circles under his eyes looked more like smudges now**,** rather than bruises**,** and the sunken places beneath his cheekbones had started to fill in, though he still had a pinched, stressed look to him.

His skin tone was better: more his usual pale, rather than the sickly pallor she'd seen him wearing for what she now realised was quite a long time.

As she watched, he shifted slightly in his sleep and murmured something unintelligible. His movements, though, were those of normal sleep and not the tormented, night-hag ridden man she'd seen those first few days before she'd sent Rink for the sheets she'd made.

Watching him now, Vector's words from earlier rang in her head.

_Don't expect him to be your friend, you'll just wind up tying yourself in knots_.

She sighed softly.

Vector's words had unexpectedly stung, but at the time, she'd not wanted her professor to know how much they had hit home. She completely understood Vector's warning. She knew first hand the ease in which Snape kept people at arm's length and how easily he could puncture a person's defenses and leave them wounded and bleeding. Snape, she'd discovered, chose his friends with careful deliberation. In comparison, Gryffindors tended to have a vast network of close friends, casual friends and acquaintances. So far, she'd seen only three people that Snape seemed to be friendly with: Professor Dumbledore, Healer Alverez and Professor Vector.

_I want to be his friend . . . his confidant . . . his . . . . _ Here her thoughts skittered away unformed and unvoiced.

She sighed again. "Maddening man," she whispered. "Nothing with you is ever easy."

The maddening man didn't so much as twitch. Shaking her head to rid herself of wayward thoughts, Hermione opened back up the book, forcing herself back into the words.

* * *

A loud _thump_ woke her, ingrained habit of being awakened by similar loud thumps in the past had her reaching for the book that _should_ have been in her lap.

She blinked away the clinging remains of her dream. No book. She'd fallen asleep in her chair while reading. Again. Leaning over, she went to grab the book, only to meet the assessing and somewhat curious eyes of Professor Snape.

Embarrassment flooded her, tell-tale heat suffusing her cheeks.

"Sorry, sir. I didn't mean to wake you up."

He gave a minute shrug. "I was awake."

Hermione got the rather odd feeling that he'd been watching her while she'd slept, much in the same way she'd been watching and contemplating him earlier. Only she doubted he'd been contemplating the mysteries that were Hermione Granger the same way she'd been contemplating the mysteries that were Severus Snape. She stifled the snort that thought engendered. It wasn't like she even had mysteries.

Beginning to feel uncomfortable under the weight of his gaze, she sought to distract him. "What time** –**"

"Close to dinner time. It would seem that we have both slept away the afternoon." He continued to give her that measuring look that had her wondering what he was thinking. Then, in what seemed to her to be an abrupt conversational turn, he asked, "Have you considered Professor Vector's offer?"

"I've thought about it."

"Good." He shifted on the bed and into a sitting position while Hermione resisted the urge to assist him, knowing he would not want the help. When he was comfortable once again, he said, "Tell me your thoughts."

A warm feeling spread through her chest at his words – words she knew others would hear as rather dictatorial. Hermione wasn't concerned with the i_words_/i. She was listening to his tone and watching his body language. His words said, 'You are a lowly servant and must bow to my dictates.' His actions though – his expression of interest, his focus, the way his body was angled towards hers – all said, 'Your thoughts and opinions have merit.' And Severus Snape, she knew, accorded meritorious worth to very few people.

Wrapping herself in that warmth, she began to tell him her thoughts.

* * *

They had long since gone past the topic of Vector's apprenticeship offer, their conversation winding down paths that went from minor gossip about the Order: Tonks and Lupin's not-so-secret romance . . . Death Eater Dark Revels: "utter rubbish!" . . . _Hogwarts: A History_: "Do not believe everything that books tells you." So caught up in their conversation, Hermione was surprised when the door opened to admit Professor Vector.

Vector gave them both a smile. "I hope you don't mind, but I was thinking that maybe we could do this over dinner. There are way too many people trying to eat downstairs. It's a little overwhelming."

Snape, Hermione noticed, stiffened slightly, his expression, while still friendly, taking on a more reserved cast. "Come in, Vector. The suggestion seems a good one." Turning, he glanced at Hermione. "Can you bring back dinner for yourself and Professor Vector as well as my own?"

Hermione gave him a small smile and then included Vector in it. "That shouldn't be a problem. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Hermione headed out the door as behind her Vector conjured several of her blackboards and the swirling matrix appeared to hover over Snape's bed.

Not wanting to miss anything, she hurried down the stairs to get the dinner trays. Now that the elves had taken over the kitchen, Order members took their meals in the house's formal dining room. She bypassed the room where she could hear the click of cutlery and china and made her way down the second set of stairs.

She was still putting together the trays for herself and Vector when Ron slid past the kitchen door, his shifty-eyed expression giving him away before he even opened his mouth.

"You aren't getting out of it," she said, heading off the weasel attempt she knew was coming.

He frowned, his brows drawing down tight together in disgruntlement. "The least you could do is let a bloke get his argument out before you cut him off at the knees."

Hermione laughed, more at Ron's thunderous expression than at his peevish objection. "Sorry, Ron, but the only reason I can think of for you to be skulking around is because you want out. I'm not asking a lot. Just something to take Professor Snape's mind off being cooped up in bed."

Leaning up against the kitchen table, he snagged a glazed carrot from a dish, ignoring Hermione's sound of annoyance at his picking through the dishes with his fingers. "But Hermione** –"**

"Don't whinge. And don't you dare put the fingers you just ilicked/i back in that bowl. You aren't getting out of this. You said you'd do it."

"But it's not fair. You caught me in a weak moment. I was vulnerable. I'd just successfully completed the Blitzer Hang. That was monumental. I was riding the high of victory. I didn't know what I was agreeing to."

"Ron, you were hanging from the bottom of your broom by one hand and a leg. It wasn't . . . oh, fine," she amended, with a roll of her eyes, "it was monumental. But I still need you to play Professor Snape."

"But**–**"

"I promise not to leave you alone with him. Besides, he's confined to bed and can't use his wand. What's he going to do?"

Ron snorted in disbelief. "You think that's going to make me think he's helpless? Not even a Hufflepuff firstie is that stupid. He's . . . he's Snape," he declared, as if that encompassed and summed up his entire argument.

"Ron** –**" Hermione clamped her mouth shut as she heard herself slide into whinging. Nagging could get Ron to finish his assignments. It wouldn't get him to willingly interact with Snape.

"Just think about it," she said after taking a breath. "It doesn't have to be tonight. Harry's back now, so it wouldn't work anyway. Just, you know, next time Professor Dumbledore takes Harry off with him. Maybe tomorrow afternoon." She took another breath. "I really would appreciate it.'

Ron quirked a small grin. "If I were Fred or George I'd be asking that you do my homework when Hogwarts starts up again in two weeks as payback."

"If you were Fred or George, you wouldn't be allowed within five feet of Professor Snape's door."

His hand reached back towards the carrots. She slapped it away.

Tucking the offended appendage up under his other arm, he said, "You still owe me."

"I know, Ron. But please, believe me, this is important."

Ron gave her look, his eyes narrowed. "Just** –**" He cut off abruptly, then sighed and let her off the hook. "Fine, Hermione. Next time Harry leaves."

She was too thankful for the reprieve to question her good fortune. "Thanks, Ron," she said as he headed back out the door.

Gathering up her things, she set the trays to following her with a swish and two flicks of her wand. Then she went back upstairs to Snape and Vector.

* * *

Even when she was expecting it, had even instigated it, Hermione still found she was surprised later the next day when, after a brief rap on the door, Ron shouldered his way into Snape's room wearing the countenance of a man going to the gallows.

For the briefest of moments it felt like she was staring at a Muggle still-life – Snape reclined on his bed with one brow raised, Ron poised like a rabbit mid-flight, eyes wide and body half-twisted back towards the door in order to make his escape, and her, half in her chair and half out.

Then the tableau broke as Ron found his courage and raised his chin in obvious defiance of his nervousness, and in all probability, in defiance of Professor Snape as well.

Ron's eyes flickered to her and back to Snape. "Hermione said you were bored and might like a game of chess." It was part question and part statement with a little bit of challenge thrown in, as if Ron thought Snape was going to accuse him of making the whole thing up.

Not sure which player in the drama to focus on, Hermione found her gaze flicking rapidly between the two.

"Mr Weasley," Snape acknowledged, his voice as frosty as if he stood in the classroom. Ron tensed, but before he could stomp from the room, Snape spoke again, his voice sliding into more conversational tones. "I find that diversion at this point . . . no matter the source . . . is always welcome."

Hermione let out the breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding. That, as far as Snape responses went, was fairly cordial. Then again, he couldn't just leave off all the insults or Ron would have known something was up. It would be a fine balance between being his usual acidic self but easing off just enough so Ron could let his guard down.

A flush crept up Ron's neck, but he held his ground. Hermione felt herself relax. Not that she should have worried, she chided herself. Snape was, after all, the consummate spy and Slytherin. If anyone could walk that fine line, it would be him.

Laughter bubbled up, but Hermione snapped her teeth together and held it in as Ron sent her a disgruntled glower that she easily read. Ron had just revised what she owed him for this. But if this worked, if they got Harry back on the right path and Voldemort was vanquished once and for all, she'd give Ron anything he asked for in exchange for this favour.

She gave him best encouraging smile and hoped it was enough.

After that first tension-filled moment, the rest seemed anti-climatic. Ron entered the room and set up the board and chess pieces with a quiet efficiency that spoke of long practice. Snape had said nothing until Ron had offered him the traditional pick of chess pieces within Ron's closed fists.

"Right."

Ron's fingers had opened to reveal a black pawn. Without another word between, the pieces were returned to the board and play began.

Hermione attempted to be interested, but somewhere between Ron moving a pawn and several moves later, Snape moving a Bishop, she lost all interest. Chess, she'd determined, had all the appeal for her of Quidditch but without the sometimes heart-stopping flying that at least lent that game occasional interest.

Her own boredom with chess annoyed her at times. Chess was a time-honoured, logical game of strategy. It was the kind of game that should be right in line with her strengths. It was the kind of game she had a feeling she _should_ enjoy. She gave the two combatants a swift glance, taking in Ron's steely-eyed determination and Snape's faint smirk of superiority. The phrase 'dull as dirt' floated through her mind and she fought to repress her snicker of amusement, positive that neither Snape nor Ron would find her comment funny.

An hour or so later, Hermione stifled a yawn behind her upraised book. _How can a game so boring keep two people so riveted?_

She had no idea who was winning or losing. To her eyes, the board was just a jumble of scattered pieces. Although from the few remaining pieces on the board she'd guess that the end would be coming soon. With a shake of her head, and another barely covered yawn, she went back to her book – magical theory, now that was interesting.

It was an odd choking noise that brought her attention back from her immersion in the printed word. Looking up, she blinked a few times. Prolonged reading tended to make her eyes a little dry. A second later, the noise was repeated and this time, she recognised it as having come from Ron.

He was staring at the chess board in something that Hermione could only name as awed horror. She couldn't see why. She did understand that Ron had lost, if Snape's rather self-satisfied expression, and Ron's keeled over king were any indication, but she wasn't sure why the game was eliciting such a reaction from him. It didn't happen often, but she'd seen him lose before.

Snape caught her eye. "I thought you said that Mr Weasley would provide a challenge." The self-satisfied look went to something that more resembled arrogant smugness. "I see no challenge."

Ron's head slowly rose from his contemplation of the board, his back straightening with the movement. He had a fierce expression on his face that Hermione usually only saw when he was guarding the Gryffindor goals during Quidditch games.

"Reset the board," he said, his voice low and steady.

Snape smirked and leaned back into the bed pillows, the very picture of languid nonchalance.

"Really, Mr Weasley, I don't see how you** –**"

"Reset. The. Board."

Snape's lips twitched, one corner curling up. Hermione felt a little shiver skitter down her spine at the sight. She knew Ron would see a sneer in that expression. Hermione, however, was reading a full-blown Snape smile. He was pleased.

With seeming unconcern, Snape tapped out a specific pattern onto the corner square of the board. On his last tap, all the pieces scrambled back onto the board, taking their places with military precision. Hermione saw the black king look up at Snape and then over to Ron. She would swear that she could see the little wooden man swallow hard.

She paid more attention this time, or at least tried to. She'd seen enough games to recognise Ron's series of opening moves. The moves were some kind of named strategy**,** but she'd never taken the time to learn it.

Each player's moves were done lightning quick, as if both Ron and Snape were making moves according to a pre-arranged script, until Snape moved one of his knights. Ron's hand, already reaching for a pawn, drew back before his fingers touched the piece.

Fingers rubbing against his thumb, Ron raised his eyes and studied Snape's face; looking for what, Hermione hadn't any idea. Snape gazed back impassively, his expression curiously neutral after the arrogance from the earlier game.

Ron reached for the board again and moved one of his castles. The game resumed, but this time, each player studied the board with fixed concentration at each move.

Back and forth.

Move and countermove.

Advance and retreat.

_Good God, this is a boring game,_ she thought.

But then she gave herself an admonishing shake. Whatever was going on in this game was holding Snape and Ron spellbound. Tension lined Ron's shoulders as he hunched further over the board. Snape, Hermione noted, was relaxed, his expression of satisfaction, if she was reading him correctly. Which was why she was completely startled when a moment later Snape reached forward and tipped over his king.

Ron's expression was the epitome of gobsmacked for all of two seconds before it slid into excitement. Abruptly, his expression morphed into a mixture of puzzlement, concentration and suspicion.

Hermione caught her breath then let it out as Ron's expression cleared of the suspicion, though the puzzlement remained. He finally offered up, "Good game, Professor Snape."

Snape's expression had barely changed, if anything, Hermione thought, it had deepened into satisfaction. "It was indeed an excellent game, Mr Weasley." He paused. "I would enjoy additional games, if you are so inclined."

Ron blinked. "I . . ." His eyes flicked over to Hermione, then back to Snape. "Yes, sir. I would enjoy that."

Below them, the grandfather clock in the front hall chimed four o'clock. Ron's eyes widened. Hermione could almost read Ron's mind: the afternoon had mostly vanished and Harry would be returning soon. Snape knew it as well, so she wasn't surprised when Snape dismissed Ron, though it was the gentlest dismissal Hermione had ever seen Snape give.

She flashed Snape a grateful smile and slipped out of the room after Ron. Figuring that she'd have to run to catch up with him, she wasn't prepared to find him leaning up against the wall opposite Snape's door. Trying to stop her forward momentum, she tripped over her own feet and landed with a muffled _thump_ and whoosh of breath against the solid wall of Ron's chest.

For a brief moment as Ron's arms closed around her, Hermione flashed back on all of her carefully hidden girlish fantasies of her and Ron. Just as quickly, she felt a vague sense of _wrongness_ and**,** finding her footing, she stepped back as an embarrassed flush darkened her cheeks.

"Sorry about that, wasn't expecting you to be there."

Ron didn't say anything but was not watching her with that same contemplative expression he'd used on Snape.

"Ron?"

He shook his head, more as if he was trying to shake loose a stubborn thought rather than in answer to her comment.

"It's fine. Hermione did he–"

"Did he what?"

"Was he . . . never mind. I don't know what I'm thinking or even what I'm saying."

Not sure what was bothering Ron, Hermione lay a hand on his arm. "You okay?"

"Yeah." He shrugged. "I'll see you later."

* * *

Ron walked away, not surprised when Hermione re-entered Snape's room. With a small flare of not-quite-jealousy, he realised that she'd been comfortable in that room with Snape.

Taking the stairs slowly, he mulled over what he'd seen. There was something going on there in Snape's room. Ron knew it, with the surety of being the subject of the twins' plots for his entire life. Every instinct he possessed was clamoring at him that not only were Snape and Hermione up to something, but that somehow, without even being sure of how he agreed to it, he was now part of the plot.

And that chess game . . . Ron admitted that the first game had been all Snape. Ron had underestimated the Potions master, and Snape had caught him in one of the slickest and tightest strategies Ron had ever seen. Even now, Ron wanted to analyze the game.

It had been a new strategy to Ron and one he looked forward to mastering. The second game though, Snape had played differently. His play was no less brilliant, but somehow Ron got the impression he was missing something. Snape had opened with _Hobson's Choice_. It was a fairly tame opening, but gave the player the later choice to either play in a defensive or aggressive style. Ron had countered _Hobson_ with a strategy that was typically used to force the player using _Hobson_ into the defensive strategy.

For a few minutes of play, Ron had thought he'd dominate the game to a speedy victory – right up until Snape had changed his game, his whole previous strategy with a single move, effectively abandoned _Hobson_ for _Grayson's Secret Gambit_.

Then the play between the two had really begun. Ron had never successfully seen the Gambit played, as it favoured subtle traps within traps and maze-like formations that were ultimately designed to lead the other player to defeat. Ron had been especially proud of himself as he worked though each layer of trap, always finding the move that would lead him to safety and ultimately to victory.

He had won.

Ron's downward progress stopped. He had won, hadn't he? Snape wouldn't throw a game, and one false move on Ron's part would have ended in his rather quick defeat. But there was that suspicion, that prickling at the back of his neck that usually appeared right before Fred and George ended up turning him purple or into a fish or some other bit of craziness.

Ron looked back up the staircase in the direction of Snape's room, remembering Snape's defeat and the strange satisfied smile the man had worn.

He had won. _I did. At least I think I did._

_

* * *

_

Not the end. Not end close to it. We have to go back to school. Ron needs to figure out what Snape was telling him. Points to anyone who figures out how Snape is planting ideas in Ron's head. Then there is Harry and the confrontation looming there. And Voldemort, can't forget him. Egads!! this fic is never going to end. -C


	29. Ch 28: Back to Hogwarts

_**Author's Note 1**__: Hello loyal readers. I can't believe how many of you guys stepped forward after the last chapter and said you were still reading, had been here since Chapter 1 and were waiting patiently for me to finish. I'm even more surprised that there weren't any threats of violence and bodily harm to hurry up with it. You guys are the bestest._

_In the interest of actually getting to the point of the story, well, one of them anyway, I've decided to scrap several additional filler scenes that round out the final weeks of summer at Grimmauld Place. Unfortunately this means that chess time between Ron and Snape hit the cutting room floor. A good editor probably would have cut them anyway as being not pertinent to the action. There will be one final scene at Grimmauld Place and then the action will jump back to Hogwarts where the story will finally(!) at long last, start it's downhill slide towards blood, death, mayhem, secrets, reveals, surprises, romance and Lil' Sev._

* * *

**Chapter 28 – Back to Hogwarts**

Severus watched Granger step forward. After suffering, with limited patience, through his convalesce and her care, he knew that look in her eyes. She was intent on helping – probably had the intent to fluff his pillows. Again. _Enough is enough._

"Granger, if you take another step towards my pillows, I'll hex you, with or without a wand, where you stand."

_That stopped her_, he thought with no small amount of satisfaction as he took in her stunned expression. He was even more amused when her expression went from stunned to annoyed, her mouth set in a line of compressed irritation reminiscent of Minerva's. But he wasn't going to be dissuaded by the disapproval of one young woman, his temporary keeper or not.

"I'm getting up. I'm getting dressed. I'm going down the stairs." He allowed himself a small grimace of annoyance, and added, "That last will, in all probability, require your assistance."

That he was being summarily dictatorial and asking for her help all in the same breath didn't much bother him. She'd fuss, and disapprove of his actions, but he knew she'd help, if just so he didn't fall down the stairs like a great sack of potatoes and cause himself more harm. Guilt, as he knew, was a highly effective motivator for doing things one disagreed with.

"Sir, Healer Alverez –"

"Is not here," he interrupted.

Reluctant as he was to explain himself to anyone, he stifled the urge to snap at her. She'd been tolerable – more than tolerable, if he was honest with himself – during his confinement. "Term will begin in little more than a week. Preparations must be made because I _will_ be at the Welcoming Feast."

"But your magic," she protested.

He scowled, feeling again the loss of his abilities. Here at Grimmauld Place the loss hadn't been felt as keenly, but at Hogwarts it could get him or others killed. There was no help for it though. To not be at the Welcoming Feast would be to admit to weakness that WOULD get him killed far quicker than the loss of that magic. At least he would still be able to teach his classes with none the wiser.

"I do not have the luxury of time to wait for the full restoration of my abilities. Preparations for the beginning of term can not be delayed further." He eyed her speculatively. He'd already admitted that her presence had been tolerable. Would it hurt to continue his closer association with her? It did, after all, provide him better opportunity to teach her. He would also feel better about requesting her assistance if he was providing something of equal exchange back to her.

"Granger, I realise that your _involvement_ in my well-being was forced upon you under less than voluntary circumstances. However, with my return to Hogwarts, without full use of my magic, I will be at a disadvantage." He paused, wondering if she'd take the bait he dangled in front of her without him actually having to ask for her assistance. He felt a curl of pleasure when she didn't disappoint.

"Oh, I'd be happy to help you, sir. I suppose it would be hard to handle some of your potions ingredients without access to your magic."

"Yes, quite," he agreed, with something that he hoped resembled a welcoming expression. "To that end, you will help me get up and out of here."

From her expression, she realised she'd just backed herself into a corner. She'd agreed to help him with the things he had to do. Now she couldn't just protest when the things that needed to be done went against the requirements keeping him confined in the room. Her eyes were narrowed again in annoyance. _Good gods, I love Gryffindors and their overweening sense of self._

"Healer Alverez –" she began again and then stopped to eye him speculatively. "I understand that there are things that you must accomplish for the new term, but Healer Alverez was adamant about the further damage that you could do to yourself."

Severus waved his hand negligently. He existed in the now and believing that he would survive the coming confrontation between Potter and the Dark Lord was a hope even he wouldn't set himself up for. Severus knew he had only to survive to the battle itself, and with Granger's magical assistance, that could be assured. It was apparent, though, that some concession would have to be made as a sop to her bleeding-heart tendencies. Carefully not acknowledging the unfamiliar feeling of warmth beneath his breastbone at the idea that those tendencies where focused on him, Severus set about laying the foundation of the next phase of their working relationship.

"Rink!"

When the elf appeared, Severus began snapping out orders. "Elf, return to Hogwarts. Bring me several changes of clothing and my lesson plans. That will be the black binder in the first drawer of my desk." He fixed Rink with a steady glare. "I trust that you will know better than to touch anything else."

There was an almost unnoticeable pause as Rink hesitated at the instructions, the house-elf's ears flicking in Granger's direction.

Dropping his voice to an almost whisper, he said, "Now."

Rink jumped in a suitably satisfactory manner and reached up to tug – though not to twist, Severus noted – one ear. Giving a nod, he disappeared.

He turned that same soft tone on Granger and was gratified to see her react as well. "Impertinence from house-elves, your influence no doubt."

He snorted softly at her attempted look of innocence – only Hufflepuffs would pull that off with any semblance of sincerity.

He really should stop the girl from loitering about in his room with Rink. Actually, he really should stop the girl from loitering about in his room, period. Not only did it skirt the line of impropriety but she was becoming far too comfortable in his presence, not to mention he was becoming comfortable in hers, a realisation that _did_ make him uncomfortable.

Best send her on her way as well. It was about time he had a little privacy. "Head down to the Floo and contact Professor Dumbledore. Inform him that plans will need to be formulated. Tell him to bring Healer Alverez for a final evaluation." He made an abrupt shooing gesture. "Out."

The door closed behind the girl and Severus drew in a deep breath, held it, and then let it out slowly. Alone at last. With no prying eyes to watch him, he climbed laboriously to his feet, swaying slightly as he stood. Another deep breath and exhalation and he steadied. _Not so difficult, after all,_ he thought with some satisfaction.

A few slow turns around the room disabused him of that notion. This was going to be more difficult than he first imagined. Knowing it was best to know his limitations now before a surprise got him killed, he started poking and prodding at his injures, starting with his shoulder, until cold sweat was beading along his forehead.

Acceptable, he finally decided. He had pain potions in his office that even Arrosa didn't normally have access to. They would suffice. They would have to suffice.

Too many things were demanding his attention. After his enforced contact with the Order, the Dark Lord would expect answers soon to the issue of the Order's success through the summer. He and Dumbledore would have to discuss what details should be passed along. It was probably safe enough to share the house-elf defence. As the elves were bound only to Hogwarts and by extension the Headmaster, whoever controlled the school controlled the elves. The Dark Lord could neither counter nor subvert that.

A sudden thought slid an icy tendril down his spine: if the Dark Lord controlled the school, or established his own puppet-Headmaster . . . Severus shuddered as that possible future unfolded before him, his mind seeing the possibilities and consequences of such an outcome. _He_, as a tenured professor, would be the most likely to be installed as Headmaster under the Dark Lord's rule and to protect their lives and the Order's long-term goals he'd be forced to install favoured Death Eaters in the school. Hogwarts would become a student's worst nightmare as pure-blood rhetoric and inter-House rivalries were left to run rampant.

He would have to speak to Dumbledore. That scenario could not be allowed to happen. The Order had to maintain control of Hogwarts and the elves. But the house-elves were only part of his problems. Plans needed to be made for those of his House who were still ambivalent about the coming conflict. Potions for the Order, and for the school itself, would need to be prepared. Weasley would need to be brought around and that couldn't be rushed. Potter – he grimaced at the name – had to be saved from his own pigheaded arrogance.

And somehow, someway, the wizarding world had to be saved from utter destruction.

He took another deep breath and let it out on a strangled laugh . . . a piece of cake, as the Muggles would say.

* * *

On a mission, Hermione wasted no time in heading for the library's fireplace. This was the only fireplace that was connected to the Floo network, and several layers of heavy wards and protections spells ensured that only certain connections could be made and only certain individuals could use its pathways.

Having used the Floo several times during Snape's convalescence, Hermione was adept at summoning the headmaster. Using the house-elves would have been quicker, but Professor Dumbledore had stated he wanted their concentration focused on listening to Order members and Muggle families in distress, not shuttling people around.

She gave friendly smiles to several Order members who were gathered in the library and one somewhat cool nod of greeting to Moody. She had not forgiven him his treatment of Professor Snape. Moody returned her nod; he hadn't forgiven her endangering the Order with her reckless dash to save Professor Snape.

Kneeling down and throwing a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace, Hermione waited a moment for the fire to turn green. "Professor Dumbledore's quarters. Hogwarts," she stated firmly. Once the low flames had flared up, she called loudly, "Professor Dumbledore? Sir, are you there?"

Intensely aware of the curious stares at her back, Hermione called again. "Professor Dumbledore?"

This time the professor's disembodied head appeared. "Miss Granger, to what do I owe this call?"

Hermione noted that the Headmaster's tone was still rather formal. While it had seemed that Professor Dumbledore had forgiven her for initiating the Order's security breach with Healer Alverez, he no longer interacted with her in the dotty, light-hearted manner of before. If she'd been asked to name it, she would almost say that he dealt with her warily.

Remembering the people that were listening in on this conversation, she said only, "It's Professor Snape, sir. He's sent Rink, his house-elf, off to Hogwarts to get his lesson plans. He's also asked to speak to you and has asked for Healer Alverez."

Hermione stifled a grin as she watched Professor Dumbledore's lips thin down in tight annoyance at the Healer's name. But, beyond that small facial clue, Dumbledore kept his thoughts well hidden behind a serene façade.

"Very well, Miss Granger. I suppose Severus is right and it's time to begin preparations for the new term. Please inform him that I will be there soon." He paused, and then added, "With Healer Alverez."

Hermione began to nod, but the Headmaster had already disappeared.

* * *

Hermione found the next two weeks busy ones at Grimmauld Place. Dumbledore was shut up in Snape's room almost constantly and Hermione rarely caught sight of Snape. When it seemed that Snape had free time, hers was taken up with other duties as the professor had Rink bring back various herbs and potion ingredients that Hermione could chop, sort or prepare in advance.

Oddly enough, Ron, of all people, seemed to be spending more time with Snape than she was, as she'd seen him coming from Snape's room several times with his chessboard tucked up under his arm.

All in all, it left Hermione feelings out-of-sorts. Her worry about Snape began to increase the closer the new term came. She knew the toll the coming the term would take on him and with Snape forcing himself up, an action she heartily disapproved of, even her duties as nurse and provider of food were terminated. Her only recourse in making sure he took his meals was making sure that Rink kept food flowing into the room.

Hermione's only bright spot was her talks with Professor Vector. The professor had set Hermione on an aggressive reading course designed to give her a broader foundation in arithmantic theory. Hermione's afternoons were spent with Professor Vector, being quizzed about what she was reading, forcing Hermione to defend her thoughts and conclusions.

Hermione had found herself spending long hours in unused rooms at Grimmauld Place, reading her books and watching the lazily spinning matrix of probabilities that Vector's equations had created.

There was something about the matrix that drew her attention. She was fascinated by the ordered chaos that it represented; how each variable interacted with and impacted the whole. She found she could spend long minutes just staring into its heart, as if she could _almost_ see all the myriad possibilities contained within it.

Of course, at that point, she usually rolled her eyes, called herself a moony nitwit and got back to her reading.

* * *

Focusing her attention on the scenery passing outside the train compartment window, Hermione resisted the urge to throw something at her companions. Throwing things in anger, she'd been reliably told when she'd been five, and had thrown a wooden block at Billy Madison's head, was not acceptable behavior for proper young ladies.

Five years old and precocious, Hermione had absorbed the lesson of permissible behavior with solemn attention. She'd also never told a soul that lady-like or not, she'd savored the memory of little Billy's shocked expression for years to come, long after the sting of his taunts had faded.

At this point, however, if any three people deserved to have wooden blocks chucked at their heads, it was the idiots sitting across from her.

Ginny, fresh from another angry row with Harry, was staring morosely out of the Hogwarts' Express window. Her eyes were dry but red-rimmed, her freckles standing out in bright relief against her wan and frozen expression. On one hand, Hermione felt for Ginny. The younger woman was in love with Harry and wanted to help Harry in any way she could. This was a sentiment that Hermione understood very well. She had only to think of her efforts with S.N.O.R.T. to know exactly where Ginny was coming from.

On the other hand, though, Harry didn't want help. He didn't want Ginny involved. He didn't want how Ginny made him feel vulnerable in a time and situation when feeling vulnerable was the last thing that Harry needed. _If I can understand that, why can't Ginny? Doesn't she realise that the harder she pushes, the faster Harry retreats?_

Harry was sitting grim-faced, his jaw set in a stubborn, rather mule-ish expression. He was steadfastly not looking at Ginny, Ron or Hermione, his gaze fixed on the floor of the train compartment. Hermione had attempted to feel sorry for him, and the mess he was in with Ginny, but found that her usual stock of compassion had all but evaporated.

Ron, torn between sticking up for his sister and standing up for his best friend, was huddled between the silent Ginny and the equally silent Harry. Every so often he threw beseeching glances in Hermione's direction but damned if she knew what to do. _Actually, I know exactly what I need to do_.

Standing abruptly, she felt all eyes turn to her.

"What are you doing?" Ron asked.

Smoothing down her school robe and flicking imaginary dust from her sleeve, Hermione graced Ron with a smile. "I'm going to see about transfiguring some wooden blocks."

At Ron's confused expression, she suppressed a sigh. "I'm going to patrol the train." She took a step and then decided to take pity on Ron. "As Head Boy, it wouldn't hurt for you to make a round of the train as well and make sure all the new firsties have got changed."

Ron's eyes widened and he sneaked a quick glance between Ginny and Harry. For all of two seconds he looked undecided and then he too was standing. "Good idea," he agreed, before bolting for the door.

Hermione rolled her eyes but headed out after him. Behind her, the sullen silence continued. _Good God, I miss Snape and his quiet little room,_ she thought.

* * *

"Hermione!"

The not-quite-a-yell of her name caught Hermione's attention over the noise and crush of several hundred students milling their way through the wide-open front doors of Hogwarts. She tensed for a moment before realising that the person who called her was not Ron, Harry or Ginny. She'd fled earlier from the Express and taken the first Thestral-drawn carriage she'd come to. She'd been on her way before the others had even got off the train.

Of course, it wasn't like she could run far from them or that she even really wanted to. They were her friends, and she did feel slightly guilty for ditching them, but she'd just needed a little time to herself. She knew that they would all end up in the same place anyway – the Great Hall, all sitting together at the Gryffindor table where they had sat for the last six years.

Stepping slightly out of the queue headed towards the Great Hall, Hermione looked around trying to catch the person who'd called her.

She finally spotted Colin. The younger boy was jumping up and down and waving his arms. She gave a chuff of laughter. _Subtlety, thy name is Gryffindor._ Grin still on her face, she forced herself against the flow of the crowd and headed towards the younger boy.

Eager hands grasped one of hers and pumped her arm. "Hermione! I wanted to tell you first thing. I passed; got an Exceeds Expectations in Potions. Mum and Dad were so impressed. Are you going to teach the class again this year? Please say you will. Cor, I don't think I'll do half as well without you."

"Colin-"

"Oh, say you will, Hermione. It'd mean an awful lot to me. You make it so much easier to understand."

Hermione felt her face flushing with a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment. "I don't know, Colin. I really hadn't planned-"

Again she was interrupted before she could finish her sentence, Colin's enthusiasm riding roughshod over any protests.

"Thanks, Hermione. I knew we could count on you."

"We!" she said in alarm, a sinking feeling starting in her stomach.

Colin grinned happily at her. "I saw Neville earlier and he's dead keen to join back up as well. Said it was the best grade he's ever received in Potions. Oh, and Denis wants to join this year's class." Colin frowned suddenly in concern. "You could do all three levels, couldn't you? It'd be a right shame if Denis missed out."

The sinking feeling in her stomach became one more akin to drowning.

Then in typical exuberant manner, Colin switched topics entirely, leaving Hermione to wonder if this was how Ron and Harry sometimes felt when talking with her.

"Oh, and Hermione, do you know anything about house-elves?"

That drowning feeling intensified, she could almost see the water rising.

"A house-elf showed up in mum's kitchen one day." Colin continued with a laugh, "You should have heard mum scream. But then he was going on about being from Hogwarts and there to protect us and how we had to call his name if –" Colin's voice dropped to a harsh whisper – "if You-Know-Who's Death Eaters showed up."

Colin's voice returned to normal. "Said his name was Hod. What kind of name is Hod? I thought all the house-elves had names like Dobby and Molly and Twinky and Zinky? Who names a house-elf, Hod?" Colin gave himself a slight shake. "But anyway, do you know anything about the elves? Because I figured, and I told mum, and Denis completely agreed with me, that if there was anyone who would know about the house-elves, it would be you."

Colin blinked at her expectantly, as if he was just waiting for her to spill forth the wisdom of the wizarding world in regard to house-elves to him at that very moment.

Hermione's mouth opened and then snapped shut as she felt one of those drowning waves crash over her head. _How do I get myself into these things_? "Colin-"

"Hermione!" A firm clap on her shoulder sent Hermione staggering a bit. "Oops. Sorry about that."

Hermione turned so that Neville could join them, her eyes widening in surprise as she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. "Good Lord, Neville. You've grown at least four inches."

Neville grinned and patted his stomach. "And put on at least a stone." His grin widened. "Gran says I'm a big, clumsy lout." He shrugged good-naturedly. "Haven't quite settled into my skin yet. But, did Colin tell you? About my Potions grade? You are going to help us again this year, aren't you?"

Faced with both sets of pleading eyes, Hermione threw up her hands. "Fine. I'll set up class again and let you know when I'm ready."

Colin and Neville both thanked her profusely before Neville steered them towards the Great Hall and the rapidly diminishing queue of students. "Come on, then. Let's eat, I'm hungry."

* * *

Hermione made her way down the Gryffindor table before squeezing into the place saved for her by Ron and Harry. It seemed both boys were over their sulk and were avidly chatting with Dean Thomas. Hermione did a quick scan for Ginny and found her commiserating with a group of her own age-mates further down the table. Satisfied that Ginny wasn't alone, Hermione turned back to her own companions and their conversation.

The topic this year was, unsurprisingly, the same as it was almost every year. "I don't see any new faces up there," Dean said, jerking his head in the direction of the High Table.

"I suppose," Ron answered, "that the new DADA professor could just be late. They might be showing up later. Maybe Professor Dumbledore will teach it. He defeated Grindelwald, he's got to know something about Defence against the Dark Arts."

Harry's expression was dubious. "You don't suppose-"

"The Git? No. Dumbledore wouldn't."

Ron's response was more speculative than Dean's vehement denial. "He wouldn't, would he?"

Libby, sitting on the other side of Dean, added, "But I've heard that Snape asks every year and Dumbledore always turns him down because he doesn't trust him. With You-Know-Who back," – she nodded at Harry – "the Headmaster would never trust Snape."

Hermione bristled and cut into the conversation. "Professor Snape is a Hogwarts professor of many years and I'm sure has earned the Headmaster's trust. He-"

She was interrupted by Dumbledore clinking a fork against a goblet, the sound magically enhanced to carry through the room.

As the rustling and whispers quieted down, Dumbledore stood, his colourful peacock-hued robes a bright beacon of colour amongst the somber black of professorial and student robes. He stood for a long moment in the silence until many from the younger years began to fidget. His voice, soft and raspy with age, yet unmistakably strong, caused many in the Hall to jump when he finally spoke.

"Welcome back to Hogwarts." His faded blue gaze swept the Hall. "Customarily I make these announcements after the Sorting of the new first years. This year, I thought to address those of you returning to these hallowed halls before the Sorting. I'll skip the usual admonishments concerning contraband items and the Forbidden Forest, for you all should be well aware of those. So, to give you the announcement I'm sure you are all most interested in: Professor Snape will be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts."

Hermione heard several gasps of dismay as the headmaster made his pronouncement, most notably from the Gryffindor table. The headmaster, however, continued on as if he had not heard them.

"I will be teaching Potions for the first few weeks of term until Professor Horace Slughorn can join us. Professor Slughorn has agreed to come out of retirement to lend us his expertise."

Hermione heard someone further down the table ask, "Slughorn, anybody every heard of this Slughorn?"

Beside her Harry gave a sharp laugh. "Well, this year will be a switch. I might get a decent grade in Potions, but I'll fail Defence."

Dumbledore raised a hand and the whispers and comments faded away to silence. "Finally, I wish to say this to you: these are trying times in the wizarding world. We stand today on the edge of a precipice, while beneath our feet our world crumbles. Honour, loyalty, courage, integrity, love . . . these words which once meant so much, are but dust in the mouths of men who have sacrificed their souls to hate.

"Hogwarts has long stood as a bastion of hope and learning. The dark days in which we find ourselves offer us a challenge: do we quietly surrender to the darkness or do we make a stand for the light? Many people will tell you that you, as students, are too young to be involved, too young to be drawn into this conflict. I tell you now, that you, each of you, are at the heart of this conflict. You decide the future of the wizarding world and so each of you must answer the question for yourselves and ultimately you must live with the decision you make.

"The time of that decision is coming soon. Be prepared to make your choice."

The headmaster's somber words seemed to almost echo in the silence of the hall, everyone stunned at the stark words. Hermione noticed many people turning to look anxiously at their fellow students. Many of those looks were focused on Harry and the Slytherin table.

Whispers started up again, the sound seeming to swirl around the room, only to be cut off as the headmaster again raised his hand. "Professor McGonagall, if you would?"

At her cue, Professor McGonagall led a ragged queue of eleven year olds up to the stool placed before the assembled students. Hermione thought that there looked to be fewer of them than in previous years. She had to wonder how many parents had sent their children off to magical schools abroad rather than risk keeping their children in Britain. She didn't get a chance to wonder for long as the Sorting Hat launched into its new song.

_Another school year has begun,  
__And summer warmth is fading.  
__So huddle in this autumn chill-  
__I shall not keep you waiting._

_Already forest leaves have died.  
__The days grow ever shorter.  
__And now a heavy task befalls  
__Your trusty student sorter._

_By now you all have realised  
__The purpose of this song-  
__To tell you how the Founders  
__Never really got along.  
_

Hermione's attention had started to wander, but as the Sorting Hat ended its last stanza her attention snapped back to the front of the room. _Did the Hat just say . . . ._

From the Ravenclaw table Hermione heard Luna Lovegood's distinctive voice. "Well, that's new and different."

Oblivious to the shocked focus of the entire room, the Sorting Hat continued its song, a resigned bitterness underlying the words. In that moment, the Hat reminded her rather strongly of Professor Snape.

_The point, of course, to make each House  
__Suspicious of the others.  
__To foment rivalry and scorn  
__Between sisters and brothers._

_For when you set your sights upon  
__Pursuit of points and praise,  
__You moderate your mischief,  
__And the sorts of hell you raise._

_The teachers all depend on me  
__To help them keep control  
__By separating those who might  
__Unite in impish goals._

_But if you listen well tonight,  
__To my poor song disjointed,  
__You'll soon discern the way in which  
__This plan may be avoided._

Professor McGonagall, eyes narrowed and lips pinched together, reached forward as if to snatch the Hat from the stool. The Hat twisted, the folds and wrinkles that made up its face coming together to glare right back at the professor, regardless of the fact that the hat didn't even have eyes. Without missing a beat, the Hat sang another verse.

_The story of the Hogwarts four  
__May end in tragedy,  
__But years did pass in peace and joy  
__And schoolwide harmony._

Slowly McGonagall's arm lowered and the Hat finally twisted back around to 'face' the Hall once more, its tip lifting and straightening almost as if it was standing to attention, its spine stiff and straight. Its voice got louder as it launched into the next verse.

_The trouble is that each of them  
__Believed in different laws,  
__And while they knew their greatest strengths,  
__They never knew their flaws_.

This verse caused a rippled murmur of unease to flow through the students.

"Can it say things like that?" Lavender whispered. Obviously it could, as another verse began.

_So when I say that Ravenclaws  
__Are swift and erudite,  
__Their reticence to get involved  
__Impedes important fights_.

At the Head table, Professor Flitwick jumped to his feet in obvious indignation. Hermione's attention swung back to the Hat. She could guess what was coming. The Hat, once again, swiveled around to stare at Professor McGonagall in what Hermione could only deem as a challenge.

_And Gryffindor, whose bravery  
__Embodied that fine goal,  
__Placed winning at all costs above  
__His honour and his soul_.

Most of the older Gryffindors were on their feet now as well. Hissed denials and catcalls sounded around her, but the song continued.

_The friendship of a Hufflepuff  
__Is valued for its strength.  
__But badger grudges equal it,  
__Surpassing it in length_.

A swift glance towards Professor Sprout and back to the Hufflepuff table confirmed that they, at least, were taking this chastisement under semi-better grace. Hermione even caught several thoughtful nods among the group as if the Hat was just confirming something they already knew about themselves.

But the Hat wasn't done yet and everyone waited to hear what it would say about the one House not yet mentioned.

_And Slytherin ambition,  
__Which is feared as it's respected,  
__Too often isolates the House  
__And leaves it unprotected_.

Hermione blinked and shot a look at Professor Snape. The professor seemed content enough with the Hat's pronouncement. The Slytherin table, taking their cues from their Head of House, remained seated and quiet.

_It's vital that you understand  
__So we may all unite.  
__The time has come to pool our strengths  
__And face the coming fight._

_The Lord of Dark is rising-  
__His apparent goal dominion  
__Yet Ministers attribute this  
__To "difference of opinion."_

_While Hogwarts unity  
__Will be essential, we need more.  
__We all must be prepared for this  
__Inevitable war_.

There, for the first time in four years of singing about the Houses uniting, the Sorting Hat named the very thing that wizarding society was trying to hide from. The Sorting Hat had even said the words more plainly that Dumbledore. It was enough to shock those still whispering into silence and those still standing to once again take their seats.

_The right path's not the smoothest,  
__And precarious as a rule,  
__But must be taken to ensure  
__Survival of the school._

_It's crucial that you set yourselves  
__To this important task:  
__Seek answers to the questions  
__That you never thought to ask._

_And learn your lessons well, this year,  
__Not just for learning's sake.  
__The end of term exams won't be  
__The toughest tests you'll take.  
_

_So in this year of study,  
__Look for allies with new eyes.  
__Your best support may come from those  
__Whose virtues are disguised_.

Hermione's breath caught at that last line and her gaze swept back up to Snape. _Was the Hat hinting at his true loyalties? Did the Hat even know his true loyalties?_

_  
Look not upon acquaintances  
__With eyes, but with the mind.  
__Lest prejudice and pettiness  
__Conspire to make you blind._

_And if you are confounded  
__By this song I've sung for all,  
__Come by the Headmaster's abode-  
__My shelf's there on the wall._

_So set me down upon your head  
__Without concern or fear.  
__I'll shout to all the House you're in,  
__But whisper in your ear_.

Hermione felt the chill run down her spine as the Hat finished. Both Professor Snape and Dumbledore looked grim and Professor Vector's fingers were rapidly spinning what Hermione knew to be a piece of chalk. Silence stretched around them.

"Appleton, Harriet."

Professor McGonagall's calling of the first name seemed to shake the room and whispers once around rustled around the hall. Hermione paid scant attention to the calling of names, her attention focused on her professors. She clapped only when the others around her clapped.

"Atoll, Greg."

Professor Vector had put away her chalk and was discussing something the Muggle Studies professor; her head tilted to one side as she listened. Occasionally, Vector would lift her wand and sketch some lines that glittered briefly in the air before dissolving. The other professor would say something and Vector would sketch again.

"Barnett, Melissa."

Hermione made a mental note to ask the professor how she did that, before her eyes swung to the other end of the table, where Professor Snape sat as if all the doom of the world rested on his black-clad shoulders.

"Caldwell, Andrew."

Snape glowered out at the Great Hall, his eyes sweeping from one House table to another. Hermione noticed several students flinching beneath the weight of his stare.

"Caldwell, Peter."

Snape's eyes narrowed as he got to the Gryffindor table but no sign of recognition or approval warmed his chill gaze as his eyes swept over her.

"Dingle, Fergus."

Hermione thoroughly squashed the bubble of hurt that rose at his seeming indifference. _Fool! Idiot!_ she castigated herself. _Next you'll be whinging that he's ignoring you and not giving you big smiles of welcome_. _As if he'd be thinking about you after everything the Sorting Hat just said._ _Just because you've hardly seen the man in the last two weeks is no reason to start acting like some lovelorn puppy with a crush_.

Hermione choked.

"Donahue, Meris."

Hermione coughed and tried to breathe. No air. She coughed again. Struggling to breathe she reached blindly for Harry, her hand scrabbling for purchase against his arm. Coughing hard she pulled in great gulps of air as everyone sitting around her turned to stare in her direction.

Hermione's vision went blurry with tears. Dimly she heard Professor McGonagall's voice over the roaring in her ears.

"Effingham, Efram."

She heard Ron say something but couldn't make out what he was saying. It didn't really matter.

_What could possibly matter next to the realisation that I have a crush on Professor Snape?_

* * *

_**Author's Note 2: **Hopefully FFN won't screw up the spacing in the Sorting Hat's song. I hate the way it does spacing._

_**Author's Note 3**: Thanks to Whitehound and Keladry for the beta work. You guys have no idea how terrible I am at punctuation, spelling, grammar and assorted other things._

_**Author's Note 4**__: I do not do poetry so Mundungus42 wrote me the lovely Sorting Hat song you see featured in this chapter. Big, multi-coloured kudos to her because she wrote that song with very little direction from me – I asked for a grumpy and bitter Sorting Hat that was tired of his calls for harmony being ignored, for references to the Dark Lord and for one last call for unity. The song I got back was beyond my expectations. If you spot Mundungus42 around livejournal, be sure to tell her what you thought of the song. –C_


	30. Ch 29: The Road to Hell

**Author's Note 1: **For those that have asked – I've said all along that I was not going to incorporate the books that happened after this story was started. This means that as far as the timeline of this piece, HPB and DH do not exist. There are no Horcruxes. Voldemort's soul is in one piece and currently residing in his body. There are no Hallows (and I won't bore you with my rant about how those items and their search came out of nowhere and had nothing to do with the HP story in the first six books). _Pet Project_ began during 6th year for Hermione, Ron and Harry. With the last chapter of PP, our heroes and heroine return to Hogwarts to begin their 7th and final year.

Now, all that said, I never promised I wouldn't borrow ideas/places/concepts from the final two books. Severus has been made the Defence teacher for 7th year (and yes, the curse is still in effect) and like in HBP, Horace Slughorn is being brought in to teach Potions. I'm also incorporating some of the dialogue and descriptions from HBP into Snape's Defence class. So, that said, any words and descriptions you recognise belong to JKR. Everything else is me (with a few well-placed inputs from my betas.)

One last thing . . . I like to employ two betas. I've heard back from one, but not from the other yet. But, impatient thing that I am, I went ahead with the posting. I realize that this means there might be a few more errors than normal showing up. I don't mind being called on my mistakes so if you spot something that bothers you, send it on. -C

* * *

**Chapter 29 – The Road to Hell**

A lifetime of learning to focus on her studies against all manner of distractions got Hermione through the Welcome Feast. She made polite conversation with those sitting around her. She acted appropriately indignant at everyone's shock at Dumbledore's plan to put Professor Snape in charge of Defence. She nodded at the appropriate times during the discussions about the Sorting Hat's song.

Her sense of duty and responsibility to Hogwarts and the Prefect's badge pinned to the front of her robe got her through seeing the new first years gathered up, herded to Gryffindor Tower and safely tucked into their new beds.

Sheer determination and a knotted fist – safely hidden in the folds of her robe – got her through the yearly ritual of getting settled into her room with Lavender and Parvati.

But now, right now, Hermione was focused on one goal: get to the safety of her four-poster bed and its drawn curtains.

It wasn't until she was cocooned within its dark interior with her silencing charms in place that she realised that she'd retreated to the shelter of S.N.O.R.T. headquarters. She dropped her head down onto her up-bent knees. "Bloody fucking hell."

She didn't even reprove herself for saying out loud the words that up until this point had been more or less contained safely in her head.

Defence Against the Dark Arts was the first class of the morning. Hermione had barely swallowed down a few bites of dry toast, the food sitting like lead in her stomach. How was she going to face Snape? _Would he know about her feelings? Would he be able to see it on her face?_ Hermione sucked in a breath. _What if he performed Legilmancy on her and_ saw _it?_

"Hermione, are you all right? You've either chosen a really bad blush for your skin tone or you're looking very pale."

Lavender's mix of insult and concern surprised a startled laugh out of Hermione. It was just enough to bring her back into focus and let her more sensible nature kick in. _I'm sure that the professor has had to deal with other girls having silly crushes on him. Even if he knew – and he probably doesn't – he's not going to call me out because regardless of how embarrassing it would be for me, it would be even more so for him. Deep breath, Hermione Jane. Don't you dare embarrass yourself_.

"I'm fine, Lavender." She made sure to smile sweetly at the other girl. "I'm just not feeling all that well this morning. I'm sure it's nothing." She faked a small cough and then watched with amusement as Lavender stepped away and moved across the hall, although not too far, as the Slytherins were all currently propped up against the far wall.

Most of the Gryffindors were eyeing the Slytherins with the same kind of curiosity that small children usually reserved for bugs with lots of legs.

Not that Hermione much blamed her Housemates. The Slytherins weren't acting to their usual type – they'd gone silent, each and everyone one of them. Hermione, however, had the benefit of seeing the behavior before. She'd seen Snape do this – he retreated in silence and contemplation – calculating the odds and planning for future contingencies. That kind of calm, seemingly cold-blooded assessment was completely foreign to Gryffindors and the Slytherins were, to put it mildly, making the Gryffindors extremely nervous. Not the least of which was because they didn't know _why_ the Slytherins were acting so odd.

Hermione strongly suspected that it was all related to the Sorting Hat's song and probably to some talk that Professor Snape had with his House after the Welcome Feast. In fact, she was a mite amused at her House's reaction. Unfortunately, amusement at her House was overlaid with worry. Soon, she knew, the Slytherins would come to a decision on their course of action. They wouldn't come to it en masse like the Gryffindors, or with declared consensus like the Ravenclaws. They'd do it quietly and individually, and they'd keep their own council with none the wiser as to their choices.

The Hat had said the Slytherins isolated themselves, their own actions putting them into spots where they saw no allies, only enemies. She shook her head. It was all such a waste. _Just think of what all that cunning and planning could do when paired with a Hufflepuff's grounding sense of loyalty, a Ravenclaw to bounce ideas off of and argue with – _she grinned to herself_ – and a Gryffindor to push and annoy them all past the planning stages and into the doing stages._

The door to the Defence classroom opened with a creaking of hinges that would have done any Muggle horror film proud, effectively cutting off her speculation about House politics. With the sound all her earlier nervousness about Snape flooded back. With no help for it, she followed the others inside.

Hermione looked around as they entered. Snape had imposed his personality, and Hermione realised to an extent, his chosen persona, upon the room already; it was gloomier than usual, as curtains had been drawn over the windows, and was lit by candlelight. New pictures adorned the walls, many of them showing people who appeared to be in pain, sporting grisly injuries or strangely contorted body parts. Nobody spoke as they settled down, looking around at the shadowy, gruesome pictures.1

Harry, Hermione noted with a pang, seemed particularly fascinated with the picture depicting the Killing Curse. Her skin pricked and crawled every time Harry's eyes reflected the vile green flash. Unlike Potions class where Professor Snape stormed in from the back of the room after everyone was seated, Snape stood, legs braced and arms crossed across his chest, at the front of room, waiting on them.

Hermione cursed her own traitorous heart as it skipped a beat. _Ridiculous! You do not think he looks fierce and powerful_, she firmly told herself as she took her seat. _He looks-_ Now that she was really looking at him, she thought he looked tired and pale. Two weeks and he'd already undone all the good his forced rest had done for him.

Now she had to wonder, was Snape's wide-legged stance to make him look tall and commanding, or was it more to keep him from falling over? And how was he planning on carrying out being the Defence teacher when his magic was, for the most part, still out of his reach?

Snape continued to stare at them even after they were all seated; his expression a faint sneer. In the seat in front of her, she saw the lean muscles across Harry's shoulders tense as he shifted in his seat. Snape finally broke the tension building in the room. "You have the distinct, and rather dubious, honour of being the worst prepared Defence Against the Dark Arts students to ever face your final year at Hogwarts."

That pronouncement set most of the Gryffindor's backs up, especially those that had been part of Dumbledore's Army. Snape continued as if he were oblivious to the frowns and scowls of his students.

"You have, from your first year, been taught by a traitor, an idiot, a liar, an imposter, a toad and a fool."

Hermione ran down the list in her head, the traitor was Quirrell and she could see where he could have been considered a traitor by either side. The idiot was Lockhart and needed no further explanation. She wasn't sure she agreed with Remus Lupin as a liar, even though he had, technically, withheld certain truths from them all – truths that could have saved a lot of heartache and trouble if he'd just explained to others what he knew and suspected.

The imposter was Moody, of course. _Had Harry's fall into the Dark Arts begun with those demonstrations of the Unforgivables? Had this been brewing that long?_ It was an unsettling thought.

Umbridge was the toad, and Hermione couldn't say that she had much objection to that description of the obnoxious woman. Fool, though, she felt was a little strong for Professor Blevins. The poor wizard had tried, but being even older than Dumbledore, he'd had a rather appalling tendency to fall asleep during class.

"It is my job" – Snape gave them all a small smirk – "and I assure you, my pleasure, to remedy that distressing lack in your education to date. To that end, the first twelve weeks of class will be an intensive review of everything you should have learned in the last six years. We will devote two weeks to each year before moving onto the next."

_That's how he's going to do it. Twelve weeks of remedial study would give him the time to completely heal his magic. Clever_, she thought. _It gives him the time he needs, and gives us the lessons we need._

"You will study, you will learn, and you will remember your lessons. This will be an accelerated learning experience. There will be no tolerance for whinging, impertinence, or slacking. If you do not believe you can handle this class, I suggest you get up and leave now."

He stopped and surveyed the room. Several students were looking a little nervous, while Neville, Hermione noticed, had a fierce grip on something in his pocket. No one moved.

After a moment, Snape nodded.

"The Dark Arts," said Snape, "are many, varied, ever-changing, and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible."1

Snape moved to walk slowly across the front of the room. All eyes watched him. "It is also" – he paused – "seductive. The Siren's song _enticed_ sailors to their doom. The Erkling uses its laughter to draw its preferred prey, children, to it. The Hinkypunk uses a bobbing light to lure the unwary into swamps; curiosity being the downfall of more than one witch or wizard. Dark Creatures, however, are but the physical manifestations of Dark Magic's intent. They are also the easiest to combat – knowledge of the creature and its weaknesses, a few spells, blessings and counter-curses, and you are free."

Snape gave them all a slow smile, trailing a single finger under the first of the paintings lining the wall. Goosebumps raced up Hermione's arms and across her neck, raising the hairs and sending a small shiver down her spine. Seductive or terrifying, she really didn't want to examine her reaction too closely for fear it would be one rather than the other.

"It is the Art, itself, which is the most dangerous and the most powerful. It gives power. Make no mistake about that. But that power has its price and that price WILL. BE. PAID."

Snape turned and looked directly at Harry. "Only the supremely stupid or arrogant think they are somehow immune."

Harry shot straight up in his seat, back rigid. "Isn't magic about intention?" Harry shot back snidely. "A good intent –"

Snape cut him off with another smile. "A good intent? Ah, the old saw about the end justifying the means. Yes, intent has quite a lot to do with magic. With intent, Mr Potter, I can turn a jinx into a hex or a hex into a curse. I can make two potions using the same ingredients – one will heal, one will kill." Snape gave Harry a rather obvious pitying look.

Hermione expected the Slytherins to snicker and laugh as was their usual response to confrontations between Snape and the Gryffindors. The Slytherins weren't laughing. She risked a quick glance around the room. All eyes were riveted on Snape and Harry.

"That is what good intentions will get you. There are no good intentions when you play with the Dark Arts, Mr Potter. In fact, I'll give you another quote that rings closer to the truth: the road to Hell is paved with good intentions." Snape's eyes swept the room. "And if you want to play, and make no mistake, there are those who are more than willing to play, then you must also be willing to face the cost."

Snape turned, and then gazed back over his shoulder, making the gesture look almost like an afterthought. "And Mr Potter . . . ten points from Gryffindor and detention with Mr. Filch. Immediately after dinner." Snape's lips quirked up in a small, chilly smile. "You were warned, Mr Potter. Impertinence will not be tolerated in this class."

Harry's face was turning dark red but Ron had hold of Harry's arm, his grip so tight Hermione could see Ron's knuckles turning white. Ron was vigorously shaking his head. After a tense moment, Harry bared his teeth at Snape's back in a silent snarl but finally settled back down into his seat.

Hermione let out the breath she was holding. _They are going to kill each other long before Voldemort ever enters the picture_.

"Now, to the rest of you . . . study the Dark Arts. Learn them. Dabble in them if you must. I really don't care. What I do care about in this class is teaching you to defend yourself against them.

"Your defences," said Snape, a little louder, "must be as flexible and inventive as the arts you seek to undo. These pictures" - he indicated a few of them as he swept past - "give a fair representation of what happens to those who suffer, for instance, the Cruciatus Curse" - he waved a hand toward a witch who was clearly shrieking in agony - "feel the Dementor's Kiss" - a wizard lying huddled and blank-eyed, slumped against a wall - "or provoke the aggression of the Inferius" - a bloody mass upon ground.1

He gave them all a contemptuous look. "None of you are ready for that level of defence yet."

Snape returned to the front of the room to lean back against the lectern. "You will find, stacked in the back of the classroom, the _proper_ Defence Against the Dark Arts books that you should have been using for the last six years." He waved a hand. "Get a copy of each and begin reading the book for year one." He frowned at them. "Do not think to skim the text and simply read the captions under the pictures. You will be tested for each year. The consequences of failing to pass each year's material will not be pleasant."

As Snape returned to his own desk chair, the class moved to the back of the room where neat, orderly stacks of books awaited them, divided by year. Hermione found herself standing in queue awaiting her turn with Neville.

Neville gave her a somewhat wavering smile. "You know," Neville whispered, "I didn't think he could get any scarier than Potions class." Neville's eyes cut over to the picture of the witch shrieking in agony from the Cruciatus Curse. "I was wrong."

"Nonsense, Neville. You are quite good at Defence. You'll do just fine. Besides, Professor Snape was just trying-"

"I was just trying to do . . . what, Miss Granger?"

Hermione spun sharply on her heel. Professor Snape was standing less than a foot in front of her. Dark eyes glinted in what looked to be maliciousness, but Hermione strongly suspected was vast amusement at her predicament. Self-preservation screamed, "Legilmens!" in her head and she dropped her eyes and tried very hard to think of nothing but thick, impenetrable London fog.

"Please, enlighten me, Miss Granger, and the rest of the class, as to what exactly I was trying to do."

Hermione flushed in embarrassment but kept her eyes firmly lowered. "Nothing, sir. I was just . . . nothing."

"I thought not. Five points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger, and you can share Mr Potter's detention." He turned to stride up to the front of the room, robes swirling in his wake. Just before he reached the lectern, he stopped. He spoke but didn't bother to turn back around. "No," he said, a considering tone in his voice. "Not with Mr Potter. Your detention will be with me." Snape continued walking.

Several sympathetic glances were thrown her way. Detention with Mr Filch or detention with Snape, she knew that her classmates counted her punishment as the worse of the two.

* * *

It was relief to flee from Defence class and head for Arthimancy. Snape caused her head to be in too much of a jumble. She was annoyed with him for giving her detention, even if it was as she suspected, an easy way to meet with her without arousing suspicions. He made her palms sweat and her heart to do funny little leaps whenever he got too close. That definitely perturbed her. And then she was angry, justifiably she felt, at Snape for baiting Harry. Needless to say, her emotions were in a complete knot.

The floor that housed the Arthimancy classroom was blessedly free of students and Hermione slowed her steps to soak in the peace. Hearing quick footsteps behind her, she glanced over her shoulder, fingertips resting lightly on her wand. Students by themselves in any corridor were always prime targets for Peeves, or pranks or anything else.

Blaise Zabini was hurrying towards her. She caught her breath, unsure in that moment whether to relax her guard or not, but Zabini only threw her a mild glance as he stepped around her and entered the Arthimancy classroom. _Guess he's still deciding on which way he'll go_, she thought, as she followed him in.

As Arthimancy was an elective and few students took the advanced seventh year class, Hermione found the Arthimancy classroom quiet, with only herself, Zabini, two Ravenclaws – Randolph Burrows and Lisa Turpin, and a Hufflepuff named Mimi Catalan, taking up the desks.

"Granger, Zabini," Burrows greeted each with a nod as they took their seats. "I hear you Gryffindors and Slytherins had Defence with Professor Snape first thing this morning and that you lot" – Burrow nodded again towards Hermione – "have already lost fifteen House points and got two detentions.

Zabini rolled his eyes in derision. "Hogwarts gossip. Faster than any spell ever invented."

Burrows threw him an unrepentant grin. "Oh, come on. Was it really as bad as all that?"

Hermione glanced over at the Slytherin, shrugged and gave them the truth. "It was pretty much like Potions but without cauldrons."

Zabini snorted at her assessment, but didn't disagree.

Burrows groaned. "Bugger. No offense to your Head of House, Zabini, but I was hoping that with him getting the Defence position, he'd mellow somewhat."

Mimi Catalan, in that crisp, no-nonsense tone that Hufflepuffs all seemed to acquire, said, "Professor Snape does not mellow. Professor Snape simply is . . . Snape, regardless of what he teaches."

"Ah, good. You're all here," Professor's Vector said when she breezed into the classroom, effectively halting any further discussions of Professor Snape. She perched herself on one corner of a student desk and gave them all a broad smile. "It's good to see you all here, doing our part for fostering goodwill and inter-House relationships."

"Will goodwill be on the NEWTS?" Zabini asked dryly.

Vector quirked a smile. "Five points for cheek, Mr. Zabini. And yes, it will be on the NEWTS." Vector clapped her hands together and rose. "Now, because this class is so small, it allows for more individual pursuits. I typically structure the seventh year class around personal long-term projects. You'll be working independently. I'll need you to provide me with a prospective proposal, submitted with an appropriate outline. If your proposal meets with my approval, I'll help you set up your Arthimancy research project. This project will be set in such a way that you will go through the process from beginning to end – proposal, historical research and precedents, your theory, calculations, results and final write up."

"Will inter-disciplinary studies be allowed?" Lisa Turpin asked.

"Yes. Cross-studies will mostly certainly be allowed as that is how Arthimancy is most often used in the practical sense. Miss Turpin, I know that you are already working with Professor Flitwick on some advanced Charm work. I've got some books that I think you'll be interested in that utilize Arthimancy to develop new charms. And Miss Catalan has some remarkable ideas involving Potions that I understand Professor Snape was highly impressed with. You might check with him and his schedule to see if he'd be willing to review some of your work later in the project. He may not be teaching Potions this year, but he's a keen eye and has an almost intuitive sense when it comes to Potions."

Hermione refused to label the short flare of fire in her as jealousy.

Vector continued. "So, yes, do make the project your own. I will be acting more as a mentor and director for your projects, ensuring that each possesses the complexity that will provide you with the most solid arthimantical experience.

"As such, this class is very much about working as an individual. We will use the class time set down as meeting times. However, I often find that I do my best work whenever inspiration strikes me, which truth be told, always seems to be around two in the morning. While you won't be allowed to wander the hallways after hours, the classroom, and my office, will be open to you to use during student hours. Any questions?"

Vector gave them another smile when there were no questions. "Excellent. Then I suggest you all head out to wherever you do your best thinking and start coming up with some initial proposals. We'll discuss them tomorrow. Final selection will be this Friday."

Everyone gathered up their things, but as Hermione was heading out, the professor called, "Miss Granger, might I have a word before you go, please?"

* * *

The rest of the day was a blur of classes and dinner merely a stopover before Hermione once again found herself outside the Defence classroom. Her confused feelings for Snape had cooled during the day but finding herself outside of the classroom door just brought it all back bubbling to the surface.

She was smart enough to know, though, that stomping into the room like an unruly five-year old wouldn't get her anywhere. She paced the length of corridor outside the door, wrestling with her thoughts. Why did everything have to be so complicated?

She took a turn and headed back towards the door. She raised her hand to knock, paused, and then spun around, heading back down the hallway again.

_This is ridiculous_.

That didn't stop her feet from making two more circuits of the hallway. Again, she raised her hand to knock. The door swung open.

"Is there a reason you seem to be always lurking outside my doors, Miss Granger?" Before she could answer, he shook his head. "Never mind." He stepped back from the doorway and gestured sharply for her to come inside.

Hermione stepped inside and sat down stiffly at the desk she'd been at earlier in the day, unsure if this really was to be detention or if her guess about Snape wanting to speak with her was correct. Snape took his own chair at the head of the room. They sat silently for a minute, staring at each other.

"You're angry," he said after a moment. She could hear the amusement in his voice.

Her first instinct was to lie, but she thought better of it. "Yes."

Oddly enough, Snape's posture relaxed at that, the harsh lines on his face smoothing out. "How refreshing."

At her stunned expression, he laughed outright. "I annoy people, Miss Granger. I make them angry. I take a certain amount of pride in that ability, actually. It is, I have found, a delightful way to put people off their guard."

She thought of Harry this afternoon. "You make people angry but you don't give them a change to fight back. Or, at least, not students."

He shrugged. "Of course not. Allowing mere students to speak their mind . . . why Miss Granger, that way lays total anarchy."

Hermione's stomach gave a happy swoop. _He's teasing me_, she thought with amazement, right before she decided that was crazy and he was mocking her instead.

"But, here is your chance," he continued. He spread his arms, indicating the empty room. "Well, go on, get it off your chest."

When she hesitated, he added, "Granger, I have had the fortune, or misfortune depending on how one looks at it, to have been associated with Minerva McGonagall for some twenty-five odd years. I know well the expression on a Gryffindor's face when you have something to say but are trying desperately not to actually say it. While in the past, I've found it eminently entertaining to clock Professor McGonagall on how long she can hold out, tonight I simply don't have the patience to outwait you." He made a small flourish with his hand, "So out with it."

She eyed him for a moment. "I can speak frankly?"

He chuffed out a breath. "I have told you that you may speak and ask what questions you wish. Although I do suggest you remember my warning about making sure you really want the answers first."

She was up and out of her chair before she knew it. "I don't know how to deal with you," she said sharply. "At Grimmauld Place you were . . . it was . . . " She ran her hands up into her hair and let out an inarticulate groan of frustration.

He let out a deep-throated chuckle that had her insides doing loops and swirls again. She firmly squashed that reaction.

"There," she said and pointed a finger at him. "That. You can't laugh at me." At his expression, she amended, "You can't laugh at me like that. You were absolutely horrid to Harry in class today. You were terrible to me in class today. I expect that. I'm used to that. But then you go and laugh like I'm included in the joke rather than being the joke, and I don't know how to react."

His head tilted to one side and he rubbed the edge of his thumb against his bottom lip. "Did you know that your hair produces electric-blue sparks when you're agitated?"

Hermione clamped down on the un-ladylike word that almost left her lips. "It's been mentioned," she finally ground out after a long pause.

"Hmm." He studied her a moment longer and then asked, "Feel better?"

She took a deep breath. Oddly enough, she did. "Yes."

He chuckled again. She suspected it was probably deliberate this time.

"Good. Because my behavior is not likely to change. My actions are always calculated for one audience or another." He studied her for a moment. "The relationship between mentor and student necessitates some changes in my behavior towards you. By the very nature of what I'm trying to teach you, I need you to be comfortable speaking your mind." His eyes sharpened. "Although I suggest you remember that I am, and remain, your teacher," he warned. "Outside of meeting with you privately, my demeanor remains."

"Fair enough, but Harry-"

"I have neither the time, nor the inclination to coddle Potter."

She let some of her frustration out, her words sharper than she would have ever been brave enough to say in the past. "Isn't there some middle ground between coddling and poking him with a sharp stick?"

"The Dark Lord will do far more than just poke him. He will skewer him and roast him over an open pit."

Hermione winced at that mental image.

He gave her a remarkably sympathetic look, for Snape. "It is not fair. It, in all probability, is not the best course of action to take with Potter. However, the mold has been set and can not be recast." Snape's expression flickered, with something almost like regret, but it was gone before she could really tell what she'd seen. "I will play the role in which I have been cast. Potter, though he knows it not, will play his. And, take this as you will, I do believe that it will, in the end, force Mr Weasley to play his role sooner than expected."

She wandered back to her desk and slid into her chair. "What about me? What role do I play?"

"The better question is: what roles? In the triumvirate that is you, Potter and Weasley, you play the role of intellect and reason. To the Order, well, I suggest you speak with Professor Vector about that one. To me, you are my student. To yourself," he shrugged, "is not that why you asked me to teach you, so that you could define your own role and not have it thrust upon you? Although, if you are speaking as to which role you are playing by being here, now, you are here because I need your assistance."

"Are you going to give me detention every time you need help?"

That got her that small curve of his lower lip that signified a true smile. "No. Any need for further assistance will pass through Professor Vector. However, do not think that will remove you from the possibility of detention. Order will, of course, be maintained in my class."

"Of course," she agreed, just as dryly. "What can I help you with?" she asked, thinking that he needed some kind of magical assistance.

"As a Muggle you are familiar with the concept of the mobile phone?"

That was not what she had been expecting. "Sir?"

"Mobile telephones. I am familiar with a broad range of Muggle devices. But I need more specific information on how they are used and their capabilities. The Dark Lord wants to know how his plans have been thwarted recently. I cannot give him the knowledge of the house-elves."

"Why-" she started, but then realised the problem. "He'd have access to house-elves himself through people like the Malfoys and others." Her eyes widened as she thought through the consequences. "He would use them to devastating effect."

He gave her a small inclination of his head. "Precisely. The elves make such an excellent secret weapon because for most of wizarding society, they are beneath notice. Even households with elves rarely see them. To expose them to the Dark Lord's scrutiny would bring us to ruin. So, in order to keep one secret we will create another and give the Dark Lord a potentially lesser weapon – one that explains why the Muggle-borns and Muggles have been using it to such an effect recently. Portkeys work on a timing principle – the designated time arrives, the Portkey goes off and anyone or anything attached to it goes along for the ride."

Hermione saw where he was going. "Telephones work on the principle of calling someone else at any time or from any where. If the Portkey magic was keyed to a number, then even those without magic could use it. And the elves would be safe and we can still use them for emergencies."

"Very good."

She gave him a grin at the praise and began to explain everything she knew of telephones and mobile phones, and in the end, she even told him about walkie-talkies. And all the while she wondered how this would affect the wizarding world. She knew the wizarding wireless had come from a magical modification of radio. What would wizarding society do with the idea of the mobile and wasn't it just these sorts of changes that was one of the reasons that wizards were so afraid of Muggle and Muggle-born influence?

"Enough," he finally said.

He got up, stretched, and walked over to a small bookcase against the wall. She noticed the small shuffle in his normally smooth, gliding step. "Are you keeping up with your medications and salves?"

"Are you sure that a career in Arthimancy is what you really want? You nag almost as well as Healer Alverez."

She took the rebuke as a compliment. "Good."

He returned from the bookcase carrying two small books and something square. "These are for you," he said, setting down the books on her desk, and placing the object in her hand.

Hermione stared at the square of mirrored glass in her hand. Frowning slightly, she looked up. Snape was staring back at her in amusement.

Gesturing slightly with the hand holding the mirror, she indicated her confusion.

Slender fingers deftly plucked the mirror from her palm. "To our early conversation about roles, Miss Granger. Know thyself."

He turned the mirror so she could see her reflection. "Knowing that you do something is not enough. You must know why you do the things you do." He tilted the mirror, causing her image to shift and flash. "Why are you the bossy, annoying individual you are? Your other teachers believe you enjoy knowledge for its own sake. I disagree. If you learned for learning's sake, you would have been a Ravenclaw.

"Knowledge is power. That is a Slytherin precept. Yet you are not Slytherin. You've demonstrated rather fierce loyalty to Mr Potter." One corner of his mouth lifted. "Even going so far as to attempt to take me to task for my dealings with him. Some would call that a singularly Hufflepuff trait. As for Gryffindor . . . why are you a Gryffindor, Granger? In every instance where fool-hardy bravery should have ruled, it has been your cunning, your curiosity, or your tenacity that have stood you in good stead. Do you even know why you are in the House you are in? What makes you, you?"

He handed back the mirror. "A worthy question to ponder, don't you agree?"

For an instant, Hermione felt a flash of fear, thinking that he knew about her attraction. Snape had no idea how close he was to the question Hermione had been asking herself for the last day. A worthy question, indeed.

"The mirror is neither magical nor special. I have, however, found that when asking questions of yourself, it helps if you can actually see the individual you are questioning. You might find the process of soul-searching rather enlightening."

She glanced at her reflection and made a face. She wasn't sure she could stand any more hidden depths in her subconscious but she gave Snape a small smile and thanked him for the mirror.

"My second gift is not a gift. I fully expect that once you are done with them, you will return the books to me."

Hermione wiped her fingers on her robes before reaching for the books he held out to her, a gesture he seemed to appreciate, as he gave her a small nod.

"These are my personal books. The first one covers critical thinking. The second is a study of some of the darker individuals in wizarding history – people that will not necessarily be covered in Professor Binn's History of Magic class. I will expect you to treat the books with the respect they are due."

"I'll read them immediately, sir."

"You will do no such thing. You will read them as they should be read. Slowly, while you think about the concepts and ideas presented. They are not to be consumed, but rather savored."

She picked up the books and stowed them safely into her bag.

"Now, go away. I have work to do."

Hermione almost laughed at that abrupt and exceedingly rude dismissal. She had no doubt that when Severus Snape looked in the mirror, he knew himself very well. With an amused shake of her head, she gathered her things and headed out.

Severus watched the door close silently behind Granger as she exited the classroom. He let out a soft sigh. She was so . . . enthusiastic. Had he ever been that young? That excited about life? About anything? And the nerve of the girl, attempting to take him to task about Potter. Even Albus had long given up on that front.

Sweet Merlin, but she made him feel old and tired.

Hermione stared up into the canopy of her bed. It was going to be long year.

* * *

1 HBP, Ch 9.

**Author's Note 2:** Hermione Jane Granger, yes, I said Jane. I know that in DH, JKR said that Hermione's name was Hermione Jean Granger. This contradicts earlier information that JKR gave us where Hermione's middle name was Jane. As this story was started before book 7 and I'm firmly in denial about DH's very existence, I'm going with Jane (I've used Jane in a very early chapter of this story as well so at least I'm consistent with myself). Retcons are evil, even when JKR does them.

**Author's Note 3:** In case anyone missed it, I love me a little plot. I like multi-threaded plots. I like complicated plots. I like sub-plots and sub-sub-plots. And, as any true lover of plots, I take great pains to make my plots as tight as possible. I don't always succeed, but I try. That said, I missed a whole, whoppin' big plot hole that one kind reader was nice enough to point out. Being the weirdo that I am, I couldn't sleep at night until I fixed the plot hole, even if no one else noticed it. So . . . the whole conversation about mobile phones is Nadrek's fault. :-)


	31. Ch 30: Professor GrangerSnape

**Author's Note 1: **Between the comments about my use of cell phones to asking me why I had a whole chapter with no Rink appearance (Have I mentioned he's a scene stealer?), you guys keep me on my toes and make me laugh. Have I mentioned I have the best readers of any story around?

Thanks to White hound and Keladry for beta reading. White hound just pulled a miracle.

Sorry about those of you that got caught up in the technical difficulties. Shouldn't happen again. Please note that this chapter was posted twice. Unfortunately, I can't seem to find a way within FFN to delete a chapter. You guys are just going to have to grin and bear it. If I can write conversations, you can live with two chapter 30s. :-) -C

* * *

**Chapter 30 – Professor Granger-Snape, I presume?**

Hermione closed her eyes and inhaled the scent of roasted potatoes, the aroma bringing thoughts of home and comfort and family suppers. She kept her eyes firmly closed against the sight of Colin and Denis Creevey, who had shouldered their way between Ron and Harry to sit directly across from her at the Gryffindor supper table. She knew from her brief glimpse that Colin was practically vibrating in place. Denis had a somewhat better hold on his enthusiasm, but it was a close thing. She felt a sharp stab of sympathy for all her teachers over the years, if that was what they'd had to deal with with her in their classes.

"Professor Slughorn is taking over his first Potions class tomorrow," Colin said.

Hermione was aware of that fact. She was also aware that Professor Slughorn, a short man with a large belly and an enormous silvery walrus-like moustache, was currently sitting at the Head Table next to Professor Sinistra.

The first two weeks of term had already flown by, and Professor Slughorn had finally made his long awaited appearance. She'd looked the former professor up in the library. He was not what she would have guessed as the man who had taught Potions to Snape. She had expected someone strict and methodical, much like Snape himself. Instead, Professor Slughorn reminded her of a gentleman from a Regency romance – fond of good food and wine, full of jovial good humor and prone to wearing lavish, old-fashioned clothes. She'd even run into him one evening in the hallway wearing a deep maroon, velvet smoking jacket. She'd been unable to contain her grin at the mental image of this man teaching a somber and scowling teenaged Snape.

_Snape_. There was another subject she was avoiding, like the Creeveys and Slughorn.

Bowing to the inevitable, Hermione opened her eyes. "Colin, do you really think that a Potions class will be necessary this year since Professor Snape will not be teaching it?"

"Yes. Potions is hard." At her raised brow, he added, "Well, hard for me anyway. And even if Professor Slughorn isn't as scary as Professor Snape, it can't hurt to do the revision."

"Revision? What are you talking about?" Ron asked.

"You know, Hermione's Potions class."

Ron gave Hermione a weighted glance before turning his attention back to Colin. "No, I can't say I do know. Tell me about it."

Colin, ever eager to please, proceeded to spill everything. "Neville and I were flunking Potions." Colin paused and backtracked a bit in his explanation. "Okay, Neville was flunking Potions and Hermione set up a revision class to help him. I sort of lucked into it. I don't think I would have got anywhere near as good a grade if it wasn't for Hermione. She was a life saver, and Neville and I want her to teach it again, but Hermione thinks that since Professor Snape won't be teaching this year that she doesn't have to do the study classes."

Harry's attention had finally been drawn into the conversation. "You were teaching Potions?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, I wasn't teaching Potions. I was just revising things Professor Snape had already taught in class."

"Why didn't you invite us?"

"There really wasn't anything to invite you to, at least at first. It was just about helping Neville over his fear of Professor Snape. It wasn't a real class. And really, Ron, do you actually think you would have come to a Potions study class? I can barely get you to go to the library."

"You still could have asked. Hey, maybe Harry should start up the DA classes again."

Hermione considered the suggestion for moment. "It might not hurt to start up a Defence study class but Harry was teaching the DA classes because Umbridge wasn't teaching us anything. Do you really think we'll need that?"

"_If_ Snape's teaching us right."

"Oh, Harry. Have you seen anything in the past two weeks that Professor Snape has taught us that isn't correct?"

He snorted in dismissal. "We're revising first year material. That's hardly going to help when it comes time to face the Death Eaters."

"All knowledge is useful," she countered. "And learning seventh year defence and counter-spells won't do us any good if we don't have the foundation of the previous years to build on. That's why he's doing the revision."

"You know what I think? I think he's doing this so-called revision so that we'll be deliberately behind another twelve weeks. So that we'll be weak when he and his i_friends_/i attack." Harry stood up, his hands clenched tight at his sides. "I think a Defence study class sounds great."

Ron watched Harry walk away with a worried look on his face. Hermione suspected that she was wearing the same look.

"Anyone else think he's acting a bit touched in the head?"

"Dennis!"

"Well, he is," Colin said, defending his brother. "So, Hermione, about Potions?"

"Fine, Colin. First class tomorrow, at the usual time in the Room of Requirement. We'll discuss specifics then, okay?"

"Sure, Hermione. That'll be great. I'll tell Neville."

Ron watched Colin and Dennis race away and cut his eyes sideways at Hermione. "If anyone is touched in the head, it's those two."

She chuckled. "They mean well."

"Uh, huh. If you say so."

* * *

Hermione entered the library, intent on finding a copy of a work referenced in her Arithmancy textbook. She didn't quite understand the connection the book was making and was hoping the referenced text would provide a better explanation. Plus, she needed to quiet place to think about what she was going to do with her Potions class tomorrow.

The library on a Wednesday evening was sparsely populated with students. She did spot Harry and Ginny sharing a far table. Although sharing might be too strong a word, she decided, as she headed in their direction. The two may have been sitting at the same table but there was an almost palpable distance between them. She had to give Ginny points though for her perseverance and determination to stick by Harry in the face of his distancing.

Ginny gave her a small, tired smile. "Hey, Hermione."

Harry looked up at Ginny's words, gave a perfunctory grunt in greeting and turned his attention back to copying from the book spread open on the table.

Hermione, well used to the manners of teenage boys, took a quick glance at the book. "Defence essay due on Friday?" she asked Ginny.

Ginny, who had her own stack of books and as a sixth year was also under Snape's 'catch up to everything you've missed' regime, nodded. "I never realised how much we've missed in the last couple of years."

Hermione, who'd finished her own essay the previous evening, gave her a sympathetic smile. "At least we're learning now." She took a quick look around. "Where's Ron? I figured he'd be here too."

"Amazingly enough, my brother already finished his. He disappeared about an hour or so ago in that direction" – Ginny waved a hand toward a shadowed row of bookshelves – "muttering something about attacks and feints."

"Attacks and feints?"

Ginny shrugged. "Weird brother being even weirder."

"I'll see if I can find him," Hermione said with a laugh. With a half-wave, she went in search of Ron.

She found him kneeling next to a low table, a half-dozen books open and spread across its surface. "Ron?"

He raised a hand in a _shushing_ gesture, his attention never wavering from the table. Her curiosity piqued, Hermione slid around to the other side. A chess board was set up in the midst of the books. It was smaller than Ron's normal board and the pieces looked more like mundane Muggle pieces than the highly stylised and almost-life like wizarding chess pieces.

She was startled to see one of the chess pieces abruptly slide across the board as if an invisible hand has moved it. "I didn't know that chessboards could play by themselves."

Ron studied the board for a minute and then turned to pull one of the books closer, rapidly flipping through its pages. "They can't," he said absently, his eyes never leaving the book. "This is a remote player set. I'm playing Snape. He has a board just like this one wherever he is; dungeons, I suppose. The boards work in connection with each other, reflecting the moves each player makes. Then if one player needs to leave the game or move the board, the game can be frozen and set up later." He flipped another couple of pages and growled low in his throat before pushing the book aside and grabbing another one.

Having rarely seen Ron this impassioned about anything that had to do with books, Hermione took a seat at a nearby table to watch.

Again Ron started flipping pages, every so often looking back at the board. At this point, Hermione was fairly sure that he had forgotten she was even there.

She tilted her head slightly to get a better look at the spines of two of the books: _Wizard Chess: Opening Strategies_ and _Wizard vs Muggle: Modern Chess Endgames_. Neither book title told her any useful information or explained what Ron was doing. She found it encouraging though that Ron was still playing Snape and taking it very seriously.

Ron muttered something rude to the board that had Hermione covering her mouth with her hand lest Ron look up and catch her grinning at him.

"Ah ha!" He stabbed his finger down onto the page. "I knew it. You're trying to pull _Farrakan's Decision_. I don't think so."

Another few pages were flipped. "Come on . . .come on. Counter strategy. Have to have a counter strat . . . there it is. Got you now."

Hermione watched as Ron set aside the book and then leaned back over the chessboard. The next series of moves were fast and precise. "You move the knight . . . my castle goes there . . . then, yes, I see where . . . very clever that. Which means that the queen is. . . oh, I see. Run the risk of losing or winning all in one fell . . . okay, we'll try it your way."

Ron reached out and moved another piece, but his body prevented her from seeing which one. The results however were never in question as Ron jumped to his feet with a i_whoop_/i.

"Ron!" she hissed, "Keep quiet."

Ron slapped a hand over his mouth and looked around guiltily. Luckily Madam Pince was nowhere to be found and he let out a sigh. "Sorry." Then he grinned. "But I won."

She let out a soft chuckle. "With a little help from the books."

Giving her a lopsided grin, Ron began putting away the chessboard. "All's fair in love, war and chess, Hermione. Besides, Snape doesn't play like anyone I've ever seen. It's all set patterns and strategies and stuff I've never heard of before, much less seen. It's like he plays in code. I'm still losing more than I'm winning, but I'm getting better."

Board in hand and with two of the books tucked up under his arm, Ron gestured towards the front of the library. "You coming?"

She shook her head. "I've got some reading I want to do. I'll see you guys in the common room later."

Pulling out one of the books passed to her by Professor Vector, Hermione settled back to read. i_Who would have ever thought . . . Ron Weasley doing research in the library_./i A soft cough pulled her attention back. Ron was still standing there, board and books still in his arms. _He looks nervous_. "Ron?"

"I haven't said anything . . . well, you haven't either . . . and . . . do you ever think about it?"

She put down her own book, giving him her full attention. "It?"

"It. You know . . . what's coming."

"Ron—"

"I'm sure you do," he said, as if she hadn't said his name. "You think about everything. It's what makes you you. But, do you ever think about us and . . . Harry."

"Stop!" She held up a hand. If this was the conversation she thought it was, she didn't want it overheard by any of Professor Dumbledore's listening devices. Pulling out her wand, she gestured Ron closer to her own chair and then set a Silencing spell around the two of them.

At his quizzical expression, she gave a shake of her head. "The walls have been known to have ears. But I think we're okay now. And yes, I think about it a lot. I think about my parents, your family, about all the witches and wizards who've just vanished without a trace, and Harry and the prophecy and what it means to him. I worry about—" She caught her breath and then continued softly, "I worry about a lot of people."

Here it was, the conversation they didn't have; the elephant in the room.

"He's getting worse instead of better."

"Ron . . . ."

"You know what he's doing." It was a statement and not a question.

She shook her head. "No. Not really, anyway. Not for sure. It's just a guess."

"Hermione, I'd bet on your guesses against other people's facts any day." Ron gave her a small smile. "What do you guess?"

Hermione wondered if Ron would believe or deny her. "I think he's playing with Dark Magic."

Ron's shoulders slumped. "Yeah, that was sort-of my guess too."

They both fell silent for a moment, staring at each other. Finally, Ron asked, "Got any bloody brilliant plans that will save the day and get us out of this mess?"

She gave a short laugh, though even to her ears there was little mirth in it. "Not a one. Although, you are actually doing a great job doing what you're doing."

That seemed to really surprise him. "I am? What am I doing?"

"You touch him."

Both of Ron's eyebrows rose up, almost disappearing into his hairline. "Uh huh."

"Oh, don't look at me like that," she huffed. "I mean that you touch him – a hand on his arm, knocking your shoulder into his – all the little ways that two people touch each other. I've been doing some reading—"

"Surprise there," he said half-jokingly.

"I've been doing some reading," she repeated pointedly. "Human touch conveys a wealth of information. Muggles have done a lot of studies on human touch and how we respond to it. And while wizarding society hasn't done much real research, there are tons of books that mention human touch and how it works for and against magic. Touch can denote comfort and caring and love. It can ground us and remind us of where we are and who we are. And Ron, Harry desperately needs to remember who he is. Who Harry Potter is – not just the Boy-Who-Lived, or the unnamed individual in a prophecy that is suppose to defeat evil. I think he's forgotten that."

She touched the mirror in her robe pocket. "I think Harry's forgotten a lot of things, and he's forgetting even more of them as time goes on."

"So what do we do? Go to Dumbledore?"

"No. I don't think Professor Dumbledore is the right way to go."

"Why not?"

Professor Dumbledore's been taking Harry for special lessons since the summer and Harry's successfully hidden whatever he's doing from him. He's been putting a lot of pressure on Harry to be the savior of the wizarding world. I . . . I don't know what Dumbledore would do if he suddenly found out that Harry was using Dark Arts."

Eyes wide, Ron blanched. "You aren't suggesting—"

"No," she answered quickly. "I don't think the Headmaster would do anything to hurt Harry. I think he genuinely cares for him. I'm just not completely sure how he'd react to Harry being . . . I don't know, less than pristine in his eyes."

Ron was staring at her, his expression one of deep concentration. Slowly, as if the words coming out of his mouth were a surprise to him even as he said them, Ron asked, "Hermione, do you even like Professor Dumbledore?"

"Sometimes." She gave a half-shrug as she tried to order her thoughts and put into words everything that up until this point has just been feelings and impressions. "I respect him and his abilities. I think he's doing everything he can to ensure that the wizarding world survives Voldemort. But I can't say I always agree with his methods, and I won't just blindly follow along with whatever he says without thinking about it good and hard. Does he have the best interests of the wizarding world at heart? Yes. Does he have the best interests of the people involved? Yes and No. Sometimes." She shrugged again. "I think for him it depends on the individual and the situation."

"You're completely daft. Dumbledore is—"

"Calculating and warm. Manipulative and determined. Scheming and brave. The kind of man who won't let his compassion get in the way of what he thinks has to be done."

_I wonder if he knows how completely gobsmacked he looks?_

"You make him sound like a Slytherin."

"I make him sound like a Slytherin mixed with equal parts of the other Houses.**"**

"He was a Gryffindor!"

"Actually, I think he _is_ a Slytherin. Just think Ron, how cunning would you have to be, to be a Slytherin and deliberately get yourself put in Gryffindor?"

Ron spluttered at the thought. "Daft. Completely daft."

She laughed. "It's just a working theory."

"A completely barmy one. And sweet Merlin, Hermione, don't ever share that theory with Harry. Crippen, you've made my brain hurt. Next thing you'll be saying that Malfoy is a Hufflepuff in disguise."

"Well . . . ."

"No. I'm not listening." Then abruptly his good humor fled. "Right. No Dumbledore. Guess we figure out how to fix him together."

Hermione squashed the niggle of guilt at the thought that she'd already involved Snape, but she gave Ron the answer he needed to hear. "We'll find a way and fix him together."

* * *

She wasn't sure how much time had passed between Ron leaving her and when she caught the sound of harsh voices pitched low. She didn't mean to eavesdrop; it was more the awareness of the tone of the voices that made her tune into the conversation and she didn't like the sound of this one. So even if she hadn't been actively listening, she wouldn't have missed the unmistakable sound of children's taunting voices. It had a universal sing-song cadence with an underscored thread of self-satisfied malice that made it unmistakable.

Hermione took her Prefect duties very seriously. Leaving her books and getting up from her table, she followed the sound of high-pitched young voices around the tall shelves until she spotted a group of four older children, second or third years by their size, their patches identifying them as two Gryffindors, a Ravenclaw and a Hufflepuff, standing ringed around one nervous looking little Slytherin girl, a first year if Hermione's somewhat fuzzy memory of that year's Sorting ceremony was correct.

The taunts were designed to wound, although Hermione noted that the girl, while outnumbered, had her chin up and a very good attempt at an indifferent mask on her face.

"Everyone knows that Slytherins are all Dark wizards and witches."

"Nothing but a bunch of killers."

Hermione had heard enough. Taking a leaf from Professors Snape's book of coming unexpectedly from out of the shadows, Hermione didn't announce her presence. "Well, well, well. I can see that some students haven't been paying attention in Professor Binns' History of Magic class." Without even realising it, she fell into her Professor Granger-Snape persona, her voice taking on a cold, mocking edge as she addressed the other students.

Five startled faces swung in her direction, four of them with varying degrees of guilt and one that was still struggling to be impassive in the face of her tormentors. Hermione felt her anger ratchet up a notch at the look of resignation on the younger girl's face. She fully expected Hermione to join in the _fun_.

It was seeing the guilt on the two Gryffindors' faces sliding into smug anticipation and triumph that exploded the top off of Hermione's simmering anger at the situation. She'd seen that self-same expression too many times on Malfoy's face when Professor Snape had stepped between some altercation between Malfoy and Harry, only to take the Slytherin side of things without even hearing what was going on.

Hermione's eyes narrowed. If they thought she'd let them get away with bullying, they were in for a rude awakening. And considering all the reading she'd been doing lately about the Dark Arts and Slytherins in general, she knew just how to do it.

"Mr. Thomas," she began, addressing the lone Hufflepuff of the group, "I find it fairly odd that you would cast stones at another House about producing Dark wizards and witches. It is, after all, fairly common knowledge that one of the Darkest witches in wizarding history was a Hufflepuff. In fact, she was one of Helga Hufflepuffs best and brightest protégés. That is until she murdered over a hundred Muggle and magical children. Did you know that Muggle children still have legends about her? They call her Bloody Mary.[1] Amazing really, what happens to that Hufflepuff need to nurture when twisted by the Dark Arts. And let's not forget all the Hufflepuffs who made up Grendelwald's followers. I believe it was the unswerving and unquestioning loyalty of which Hufflepuffs are famed that got them in trouble that time."

She swung her gaze over to the Ravenclaw in the group. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you, Miss Cheshire, about the less than noble Ravenclaws that have been scattered through history."

She addressed the wide-eyed Slytherin girl, who was no longer making an attempt to hide her amazement at this unexpected turn of events. "Ravenclaws, you see, have a tendency to let their intellectual pursuits get in the way of their compassion and humanity, which leads to people like Cornelius Evertop, who started killing people for alchemy ingredients and then branched out into human experimentation."

Hermione turned back to the now beet-red Ravenclaw. "I forget, Miss Cheshire. Do you remember how many people he killed before he was captured?"

At the girl's silence, Hermione shrugged. "I guess numbers really don't matter. A killer is a killer after all."

Next Hermione turned her verbal wrath on the two Gryffindors. "All Dark wizards come from Slytherin, do they?" Gryffindors are immune? Shall we name a few Gryffindors that have gone over to the Dark? How about Matilda Coleridge? How about Nathan Cammert? How about one closer to home? How about Peter Pettigrew, the supposed best friend of Harry Potter's father who betrayed Harry's parents to Voldemort, killed a dozen people, Muggle and magical alike, and then framed those murders on Sirius Black while brave Gryffindor Peter went into hiding for twenty years, only to come out of hiding so he can stand at the hand of Voldemort himself?"

"But You-Know-Who-"

" . . . was a Slytherin?" Hermione finished. "So? The Head of St. Mungo's is also a Slytherin. Over sixty percent of the Ministers of Magic have been Slytherins. In the past five hundred years a good percentage of the innovations and magical advancements have been made by Slytherins. Do you want to hazard a guess as to why?"

With no answer forthcoming, Hermione answered for them. "The reason is ambition. Slytherins will always work to towards being the best, the cream of the crop, if you will. Slytherins as a rule don't like being second best or having to court another's favour. That's why they are Ministers, Department Heads, Headmasters,and top researchers in Charms and Potions."

They were all staring at her now, the Hufflepuff boy, Thomas, was actually pressed up against one of the bookcases trying to get away from her. _Probably sparking again_, she thought. _Going to have to figure out how to control that_.

"Twenty-five points from Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and fifty from Gryffindor for the both of you. Now get back to your common rooms."

They scattered with an alacrity that brought a smile to her face.

The Slytherin girl was watching her, eyes narrowed in assessment. Hermione was just about to ask her name, when the girl took off toward the front with a word.

In a fit of self-indulgent annoyance, she called after her. "You're welcome."

Hermione jumped at the soft chuckle that sounded behind her. "She won't thank you."

She felt her cheeks flush in embarrassment as she turned around. "I didn't do it for thanks." At his raised brow, she added, "I did it because it was the right thing to do."

"Perhaps. May it not come back to bite you," he said with a small nod of his head before he faded back into the shadows of the stacks.

She gave a soft sigh at his retreating form. "Oh, I'm sure it will."

* * *

Severus sank down into his favourite chair. Albus was not in his office, but Severus knew he'd be there soon enough. In the meantime, he sat, absorbing the smells – tea, ginger and lemon – and the sounds – the steady click and whirl of the many devices in the room – and let the tension flow out of him as he waited, his mind on the encounter in the library he'd just witnessed between Granger and her fellow students.

With a flutter of wings, Fawkes settled beside him on the arm of the chair, several long feathers drifting down to settle on the patterned rug.

Severus gave him a glance. "You are looking a bit bedraggled, bird."

Fawkes tilted his head and regarded Severus with one beady black eye. He chirped softly with a note that sounded of reproach.

Severus harrumphed in mock annoyance. "I am not Albus and will not bow to your vanity. You are at the beginning of your molt cycle, and I will not flatter a bird who cannot manage to keep his own feathers."

Severus reached out and ran the back of one knuckle gently down Fawkes' breast, his actions at odds with the acidity of his words. Several more feathers fluttered down at the touch. Fawkes made no protest, rather leaning into the caressing finger. Then he warbled a note, the tone rising, before he reached out his long neck and tugged on a lock of Snape's lank hair. The phoenix settled back with smug _cheep_.

He almost laughed then. Damn the bird for pointing out his own less than stellar plumage. But laughing at this point would mean that Fawkes had won this round. That would never do. Drawing back from the bird he narrowed his eyes in menace.

Fawkes dipped his head and gave a sharp click of his beak.

"At least I-"

Albus took that opportunity to sweep into the room from the far door, his eyes taking in the scene. "Severus, are you arguing with Fawkes again?"

Severus sat back and gave a disdainful sniff. "I do not argue with birds."

Beside him, Fawkes stretched his wings and gave an equally disdainful trill before launching himself into the air to settle on his regular perch.

"Of course, not," Albus said with chuckle. "Forgive me, both of you." Settling himself into his own chair behind the desk, Albus let the humor of the previous moment fade away. "Has Tom called you?"

Severus feeling the change in Albus' mood, straightened. "No, but I have received several warnings through the Mark. He will call me soon. It would be best if we are prepared."

"You know I've been working with Harry. When he calls you, tell him about those sessions. It should put some caution in him."

"It won't last."

"No, but it might buy us some time. Albus studied him over steepled fingers. "You've spoken to Miranda?"

"About her equations? Yes. I've seen the accelerated timeline she is predicting."

"Did you see the other?"

"I saw."

"Do not take this lightly, Severus," Albus snapped.

Severus gave him a faint smile. "We have already discussed this. Miranda's matrix makes the path I must tread clear. It changes nothing."

"And what of Miss Granger?"

"What of her? Her path is as clearly marked with my own. You know that I will do what I can to protect her, but this path is one that you yourself have helped to place her on. Do you really expect me to believe that _now_ you worry for her safety? That you are not prepared to sacrifice us all if it means that Harry Potter defeats the Dark Lord?"

"I do not wish to sacrifice anyone," Albus said sharply. "But you know the stakes in this even better than I."

Severus sighed. "That I do."

Fawkes shuffled his wings, disturbing the silence that had fallen.

"Have you ascertained the reason for her uniqueness?"

"No. The girl is simply herself, Albus. She has very little association with me at this point. Our only connection is what I am teaching her, and even that interaction is minimal." He thought again on what he'd just witnessed in the library. "Minimal though it has been, she had learned from our interactions. Given her temperament, though, and normal life experiences, she would have come to it on her own."

"Severus Snape, you like the girl."

"You don't have to make it sound like such an extraordinary thing. I like you too, though Merlin knows why." It amused him to surprise the Headmaster. It truly was the little things in life: making an entire class of Hufflepuffs cry, taking House points from Gryffindors, and surprising Albus Dumbledore. The last was especially gratifying in that it happened so rarely.

Albus raised his bushy brows.

"Yes, I enjoy Miss Granger's company. Do you know how long it has been since I've had a discussion with anyone that did not revolve around potions, the Dark Lord, or my impending death?"

"Severus!"

He bowed his head. "Apologies, Albus. That was uncalled for. But to answer the question you didn't ask, I do not believe that Miss Granger's studies with me are what is represented in the matrix. Vector agrees."

"But the timing-"

"Seems to be only a coincidence, or, at least, in part a coincidence. The girl's studies are a part of it, but they aren't everything. Hermione Granger has not yet revealed her true purpose."

* * *

Hermione stood outside of the Room of Requirement. Colin, Dennis and Neville would be inside waiting on her. She looked down her school robes and debated: should she change into what Neville had dubbed Granger-Snape or wait? Not yet, she decided. She needed to talk to them and figure out what they were expecting first. She grinned. _And then I'll don the ceremonial robes._

Hermione swept into the room, the door banging loudly against the wall. Just inside the door she came to an abrupt halt. There were students there. A lot of students.

"Colin!"

As the younger boy cringed, she knew she'd nailed the culprit.

"Now, Hermione-"

"Outside," she growled. "Now!"

Colin left his seat and slunk out of the room, his shoulders hunched up around his ears. As the door to the Room of Requirement swung closed, Hermione turned on Colin. "Talk."

"I didn't know so many people would show up. I was just excited. And, well, everyone noticed how much better Neville was doing last year. I told them about you and they wanted to get help too. I didn't think you'd mind. I swear Hermione, I just mentioned to a few people how you'd helped Neville and I."

Hermione slumped against the wall, head hanging down. "Neville and me."

"What?"

"It's Neville and me, not Neville and I." She let out a strangled laugh. "This isn't going to work, Colin."

"But-"

"No."

She pushed off from the wall. "Come on."

Colin followed her back into the room like a whipped puppy. A roomful of eyes trailed her as she made her way to the front of the room. _Thank God I decided to wait on dressing like Snape. That would have been a disaster_.

"Everyone, I want to thank you for coming tonight but I'm afraid that-" Hermione stopped as the door at the back of the room creaked open. Several people turned in their chairs to look back.

Hermione felt her heart start pounding as a short figure slipped around the door frame. It was the Slytherin first year from the library.

A sharp chin rose up a fraction in defiance. "They said you've got a Potions study class. I need help."

Hermione's eyes swept over the other students – Gryffindors, a couple of Ravenclaws and a few Hufflepuffs – and made a decision. At least one Slytherin, it seemed, had made her choice and Hermione would be damned before she'd let this opportunity for school unity slip away.

"What's your name?"

"Agnes Worth."

Hermione smiled at the girl. "Then come in, Miss Worth. We were just about to talk about what this study session will be like."

* * *

**Author's Note 2**: I know, still no Rink.

**Author's Note 3**: Bit of a footnote for the folklore and history bluffs concerning the legend of Bloody Mary aka Mary Worth. The most common story told is that Mary Worth was a witch that dabbled in the black arts. She was found out and executed.

It is largely believed that the origins of the names "Mary Worth" and "Bloody Mary" came from a slight mix up of characters from history. Mary I, Queen of England, or Mary Tudor, who reigned during the Tudor period was also commonly known as "Bloody Mary".

Her nickname of "Bloody Mary" became attached to her when she violently executed and burnt people at the stake for heresy throughout her 5-year reign as Queen of England.

There is another suggestion that the name "Mary Worth" was derived from a victim of the Salem Witch trials.

Another possible origin is the legend of Elizabeth Bathory, or Countess Dracula as she has been called. She was a Hungarian royal who was rumored to have killed young girls and bathed in their blood to preserve her youthful beauty. Of course her name was not Mary but somehow the stories of this cruel woman have been inserted into the legend.

The Japanese have their own version, called Kuchisake Onna or The Slit Mouth Woman.


	32. Author Note

Due to some technical difficulties, Chapter 30 was posted twice. FFN won't let me delete the second created chapter, only replace the content with new. Since chapter 31 isn't ready yet, this will remain as a placeholder until the new chapter is ready. Sorry for the inconvenience.

* * *

UPDATED 20 NOV 08: I've decided to leave this note up for a couple of reasons:

1. A lot of you guys left your reviews attached to this chapter and I'm fairly sure if I delete this chapter, the reviews vanish as well.  
2. It's a nice reminder of my incompetence in chapter posting.  
3. It was pointed out that if I just replace this note with the new chapter information, you guys that are on story chapter alerts won't get a message. That didn't seem quite fair.

So, this lovely note stays for posterity and the story continues in the next chapter.

-C


	33. Ch 31: And So It Begins

**Author's Note 1:** Behold the power of the Rink fangirls – he leads off the story. Pretty soon his ego is going to be bigger than his ears.

**Author's Note 2: **I know you guys know this already but it won't hurt to give you a reminder – this story is not compliant with HBP or DH. I may take some elements from those stories but everything that happened in those books does not necessarily happen in this story. And in case anyone forgot, JKR owns everything. I'm just playing with her toys.

Special thanks to whitehound and Keladry who consent to beta read for me.

* * *

**Chapter 31: And So It Begins . . . **

Rink took one look at his second favourite human and disappeared back to the kitchens. Swapping the lemon biscuits on the plate he'd been carrying for double-chocolate chip, he returned to Hermione's four-poster bed. It had been his long experience that food cured many ills among humans and that chocolate was a particularly potent medicine, especially among the female population of the castle.

"I am in so much trouble," the young miss moaned into her hands upon his return.

Trouble was serious indeed. Selecting one of the pillows that Miss kept for him, Rink settled down on the bed, knobby elbows to knobby knees. "Hermy has broken something?"

"No."

"Has touched something of the Master's that has been forbidden."

The young miss looked up at him through her fingers. "No," she said with a laugh. "Nothing like that." Grabbing one of the biscuits, she mirrored his pose. "What I've done is got myself way in over my head."

Rink nodded although he wasn't entirely sure what that meant or how it related to being in trouble. Trouble in his mind usually meant three things: something was broken, a given order was not carried out, or those in his care had come to harm.

"I need to spend some solid time with Harry and Ron this year. Harry needs me, even if he doesn't even know it. There's work to do with S.N.O.R.T.. I've just agreed to hold a Potions revision class that crosses five different years and includes a representative from every House. This is my N.E.W.T. year and I should already be revising and I haven't even started yet. My Arithmancy project is literally do or die rather than pass or fail. The Dark Lord is probably going to attack sometime in the next twelve months and . . . and . . ." she trailed off into silence before taking a bite of her biscuit.

Humans really were quite strange. This was not what Rink would have considered trouble. However, in a gesture of friendship, since she was considered an honourary house-elf, Rink offered her some of his favourite punishments.

"Would Hermy like Rink to bring her an iron? Hermy can iron her ears as punishment. Or Hermy can stub her toes against every stair in Hogwarts." Rink sat up straight with excitement as a thought occurred to him. "Hermy can slam fingers in Hogwarts' front door. Rink would be honoured to swing the door. Rink would take care to swing it very hard."

She began making an odd noise and Rink was about to get worried when he realised that the Miss was giggling. The sounds were muffled because she was biting the back of one of her knuckles. He gave an internal shrug. Not his preferred method of punishment, but he knew several house-elves who liked a good bite.

"Hermy sounds like she will be very busy. Elves like to be busy. Miss is not house-elf but has many fine house-elf traits and skills. Elves very impressed with Hermy. Rink does not understand why Hermy thinks she is in trouble."

"Fine house-elf traits, eh?" She gave him a smile. "Thanks." Then she grimaced and reached for another biscuit. "You're right, though, I do like to be busy. It's all important so I'm going to have to find time to fit it all in or figure out what's not important and drop it. Truthfully, it's not a Hermy kind of problem. It's a Hermione kind of problem and that's the part that has the rocks in my stomach."

Rink put his ears back in alarm. "Rink does not recommend swallowing rocks as punishment. Tuff swallowed rocks once." Rink shook his head sadly. "It did not go well."

"I –"

Miss blinked at him a couple times, her expression one he'd seen a few times on the faces of humans who regularly dealt with house-elves. Once day he would ask Lonnie to explain that look to him.

"Ooookay," she finally said, "I'll keep that in mind. But . . . well, may I tell you a secret?"

Rink perked up. "Elves are good at secrets. Rink will slam his fingers in Hogwarts front door before telling Miss Hermione's secrets."

She gave me a short laugh. "I don't think door slamming will be necessary. And I can't believe I'm telling . . . well, I can't exactly tell Ron or Harry, and Ginny's out and I never really bothered with the whole girlfriend thing. . ."

Rink frowned in confusion as he tried to follow her words. "Rink is not understanding. This is secret?"

She slumped forward, shoulders drooping. Rink thought that if she'd had ears they would have drooped too.

"No, the secret is that I think that I might . . . just maybe . . . possibly . . . okay, probably . . . like Professor Snape."

"Hermy has already said she likes Master." Rink folded his ears in confusion. "Rink likes Master."

Miss's head dropped back down into her hands. "Not that kind of like, Rink." She groaned softly. "I can't believe I'm about to actually say this out loud." Rising up, she propped her chin in her hands. "Snape, he's . . . okay, he's not really handsome. And he's rude. And he plays with people's heads and did I mention rude? But . . . I enjoy his company. A lot. He makes me laugh and he frustrates me and challenges me and really makes me want to hex him on occasion. Sometimes when he looks at me, my heart starts pounding and my palms start to sweat and I know, – _I know_ – that it's just pheromones and chemistry but still . . . ."

She gave Rink a somewhat embarrassed smile. "I won't even mention the dreams, day or night versions."

Rink pushed the plate closer to Hermione and was pleased when she took another biscuit before she added, "I am so bloody well screwed."

"Rink still does not understand. Master likes Miss too."

"What?" Dropping the biscuit back on the plate she put her hands up to her head and folded her hands like elf ears. "Confusion and shock here, Rink. Please explain. Professor Snape what?"

Rink laughed. He really did like this human. Reaching up he repositioned her hands slightly. "Now is expressing proper confusion and shock. Right ear must be higher than left."

"Got it. Now about Professor Snape?"

"Master of Potions likes Miss."

"Rink, you say that like . . . like . . . how do you know that?"

"Rink has been with Master since Master joined Hogwarts. Master has been unhappy for many years. Rink tried, but Master remained unhappy. Now Miss is here. Miss makes Master happy. Master smiles. Master has laughed."

Miss gave him a small smile. "Thanks Rink, but I don't think it's quite the same thing."

_Silly humans_. "Rink knows," he assured her. "Elves know. Miss will see."

* * *

Severus carefully tucked several of Fawkes' feathers into one of the pockets of his robe as he descended the steps from Albus' office. Phoenix feathers, especially Phoenix feathers freely given, were a normally hard to come by ingredient in several of the more powerful healing potions. Having access to Fawkes was one of the perks of living at Hogwarts and one he took advantage of to the fullest.

Passing through the foyer of the castle he glanced up automatically at the point glasses. Ravenclaw was currently in the lead, but Slytherin was close behind them, followed by Gryffindor and then Hufflepuff – in last place again. In all the years he'd been at Hogwarts as both student and teacher, Hufflepuff had never won the House Cup or come in the lead on points. He'd never admit it to anyone, but just once, he'd like to see Hufflepuff win just so he could see and enjoy Minerva's expression.

A small smile flitted across his face. i_This is my last year in this place, whether I live or die. And it would take extraordinary subtlety and finesse so it couldn't be tracked back to me, not that anyone would expect something like this from me._ _It's sneaky and underhanded and very much not fair._

He stopped and took a careful look around him. The foyer was dark and empty, all good little students safe and sound in their beds. "Ten points to Hufflepuff," he said softly. His smile grew as the beads within the Hufflepuff glass shifted upwards. Between Granger and illicitly maneuvering Hufflepuff to a win . . . . _And people say I have no sense of humor._

With an almost jaunty step, at least for him, Severus turned towards the stair that would lead him up to Vector's workroom.

Striding along the empty corridor, he made no effort to hide the ringing sound of his boot heels against the stone floor. He loved walking the castle at night, when it seemed that he was the only living thing within its walls. The castle had a weight and gravity to it that was harder to pick out during the day when the hustle and bustle of children filled its corridors. But at night, when all was still and calm and shrouded in shadow, the castle came alive to Severus, its semi-sentience easy to acknowledge as doors opened for him as he approached and moving stairways spun to accommodate his steps. He made sure, as he always did when he walked the castle at night, to acknowledge each of these acts with a brush of his hand along a banister or a murmured "thank you" to a door frame.

Some would have said that the castle's 'life' was a lonely sort of aliveness, but it fit well with the hollowness that had been his own life for these many years as he waited – waited for the Dark Lord to rise again, waited for Potter to grow up, waited for the time to pay the price for his own journey into the Dark.

He nodded cordially to the Grey Lady as she passed him. She nodded back. Neither spoke as both continued on their journeys.

It was good that the waiting was almost over.

The door to Vector's workroom was open, warm yellow lamplight spilling out into the hallway. He appreciated the fact that Vector was prone to keeping the same late-night hours as he did. Softening his steps until the only sound was the soft swishing of his robe against his legs, he approached her door. Propping a shoulder against the doorframe he took a moment to watch his fellow professor in amusement.

Vector was sprawled – there was no other word for it – on the floor of the room. Chalk dust coated every single surface and particles danced in the light. Vector herself was oblivious to his presence, her attention focused on the tangle of coloured lines hovering above her head. She was twitching her wand left and then right with the steady movement of a metronome. At each tick an equation on the far wall changed and with it the matrix changed as well.

Severus could muddle his way through some of the more basic and standard Arithmetic formulae but knew that the equations before him were quite simply beyond his expertise. Potion creation and brewing was as much art as methodical system to him, it had an aesthetic value, an almost visceral feeling, which Arithmancy seemed to lack.

A potion was about the whole made up of disseparate parts. Arithmancy focused on the parts, the whole being incidental in the creation. He'd once got into a conversation with a portrait painter and while they had been speaking of two different mediums, they had understood each other perfectly – this colour blue needed a touch more black to make it a 'real' blue – this potion needed four more lacewings flies to make it the 'ideal' strengthening potion – it was art and instinct.

Arithmancy had no soul to Severus, no passion and, most of all, no art. Not that he was fool enough to say that out loud to Vector. He had no doubt that the woman thought much the same of his own pursuits.

"You are a grown witch. Can you not conjure a chair?"

"Severus!" Vector rolled to her feet with a ridiculously pleased to see him expression on her face.

He winced as dozens of coloured lines pierced her head and torso. She must have caught his wince as she stepped away from the matrix with a quick "sorry" tossed in his direction.

"Let me guess, Albus sent you," she said, while giving a half-hearted swipe at her chalk-dust covered robes. It was a statement and not a question.

"Yes. He is . . . concerned."

She gave him a crooked grin. "Master of understatement, you are. He's been up here harassing me several times a day. I told him that the next time he showed up without being called for, I'd pull a Minerva and hex his sock collection."

"That would explain his request for me to check on you."

Vector shook her head in exasperation. "Annoying old bastard. Well, since you're here, pull up a chair."

With a wave of his wand, Severus conjured himself a place to sit. "I take it that nothing has changed?"

"Depends on your definition of 'changed.' If you are expecting major fluctuations, then no. If you are looking for the subtleties, then yes, lots of things have changed, most of which I can't pin down to a single happening. I know what Albus wants, but I can't just say that _this_ event is what causes _this_ reaction. Arithmancy doesn't work that way."

He indicated the mass of spinning lines, which looked odd to him, as if it were compressed on one side. "This is the whole matrix?"

"This? No. I was just running some what-ifs." A complicated gesture of her wand and the matrix reformed. "This is it."

He leaned forward. "Slow it down, if you would." Its spin decreased to a lazy, tumbling spiral, turning on its horizontal axis before rotating on the vertical. "How you see anything through that jumble is beyond me. Can you narrow it down to specific lines of probability?"

His eye caught on his own line and then Granger's line looping around his in a steady orbit.

Granger.

Potter might be destined to defeat the Dark Lord, but Granger was the key, he'd bet his life on it. But why her and why him? He knew what his usefulness was, but what was hers?

Albus had asked him if he'd ascertained her uniqueness.

Looping his path. Not _on_ his path, but circling his steps, in synch with him, following where he walked.

Him. Not Potter, not Weasley. Him. How extraordinary to think he wasn't alone.

Vector frowned at him. "What are you looking for?"

_What am I looking for?_

"Severus?"

He shook his head. "Nothing specific, just something the headmaster said."

"If you tell me–"

"Then you run the risk of your interpretation causing influence."

She gave him a look that said she wasn't buying that explanation, but held up her wand. "What do you want to see?"

"Just remove the equations one at a time, if you would." When she nodded, he focused on the individual equation-covered blackboards scattered around the room, reading the individual names and groups listed. "Remove the Ministry of Magic."

A thick, multi-braided line running erratically through the matrix disappeared. He studied change, glanced back at the boards. Letting his eyes lose focus slightly he tried to see the manifestation of magic in front of him as he would a potion, letting the ebb and flow of the lines dictate his next actions. It shimmered like one of his potions, slightly iridescent to his unfocused gaze almost like the surface of a healing potion in mid-brew. His fingers brushed against the pocket holding the Phoenix feathers.

i_My thoughts earlier . . . not like a potion. But if it was . . . if this was a healing potion the colour would be wrong. What would I do to correct it? _"Remove any individual Order members you have, but leave the Order as a whole."

"Leave you in or out?"

He thought for a moment, blinking slowly. "In. Do you still have me as both spy and as myself?"

"No, once Albus pulled me in, I combined your equations." She pointed to the back wall. "You, Severus Snape, take up almost an entire wall with your equation." She blew out a breath. "And I thought the headmaster's was complicated. Give me a second." Another wave of her wand. "There."

Again, multiple lines winked out of existence. _Now, we are getting somewhere. _"You have Houses?"

"Mostly for their influence and as a general characteristic behavioral block."

"Take them out as well. And any individual Death Eaters you have."

_The _c_olour is looking much better now. But still not quite right_.

He let his eyes fall almost closed, the lines of colour bleeding together, colours swirling and mixing together.

"Severus?"

He ignored her, instead pulling out his wand. Ignoring the names on the various blackboards and focusing only on the swirling colours, he pointed. "Remove this one – here and here."

As they winked out one by one, he continued to study the matrix. _Top notes are too bright. Drowning out the deeper coloring._

"Remove this one and these two." Again he pointed with his wand.

_Better. But the iridescence is wrong_. _It needs . . ._

"This one. These three." Colour shimmered. The correct colour.

Stepping back, he shook his head, blinking his eyes rapidly. Slowly the room swam back into focus. The matrix was much diminished.

"What is left?" he asked.

Vector was looking at him rather oddly, but he was used to that. He raised a brow at her hesitation. As usual with most people, the gesture provoked a response. She ticked off the lines as they spun past her. "Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, the Death Eaters, You-Know-Who, the house-elves, you, myself, Miss Granger, Filius and that Merlin-cursed rogue line."

"Filius?" he asked in surprise. "Are you sure?" She gave him another look; one he had no trouble interpreting. "Of course you are."

"Severus, do you mind telling me what exactly you were doing? You had that same abstracted look you get when you're brewing."

"I was . . . brewing."

Miranda waved back to the much simplified matrix. "What, a reduction potion? You've eliminated most of the matrix. What's left is–"

"What is left are the only ones that matter."

"By what logic? Arithmancy isn't a potion. You can't just toss in a few ingredients, give it six turns with a wand, and viola! Not to mention, in case you haven't noticed, you removed practically everyone, including Albus and the Order, but left You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters. There is no way that you, me, Filius, three students, and the bloody house-elves are going to singlehandedly – well, not singlehandedly, because there'd be six of us, but you get my meaning – defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and all of his followers."

"Seven."

"What?" She was frowning at him in annoyed confusion.

He fought his own reaction to smirk at her. "You said six. It would actually be seven if you count the house-elves as one mass. Although, I do see your point. Filius is a bit of a surprise."

"Fil– Severus Snape, I'm not even sure Filius is a member of the Order. I have all the teachers listed for the same reason I have the Houses, because they influence individual lines, not because they are central to the fight."

"Nevertheless, Filius is key."

"Filius is key?" she growled in frustration. "Severus, you eliminated Albus. The headmaster – the one man that You-Know-Who fears. The man who is arguably the most powerful wizard alive today."

"Be that as it may."

"You're daft. And might I point out, that your life is still blinking in and out of existence in this configuration."

He waved her off. "It is of no consequence. My life has been hanging in the balance – or blinking in and out of existence, if you prefer – for most of my life. Nothing has changed." He stared at the pared down matrix, index finger tracing along his lower lip. "And the rogue line is still there. Curious."

"And still headed on a collision course with you and Miss Granger, I might add."

"Curious, indeed."

* * *

Quickening her step, Hermione stepped through the doors leading in to the Great Hall, eyes eagerly seeking out the Head Table. She'd grown complacent over the last couple of days. She was ready to introduce Professor Granger-Snape to her revisions class and S.N.O.R.T. seemed to be going well. Harry had seen a fair number of students show up for his revision class, which made him happy. The only dark cloud on her horizon was the fact that Snape had been missing from dinner the previous evening and the headmaster had not been his usual ebullient self, but had instead excused himself soon after finishing his meal.

Snape was still missing from his usual place at the table. This morning the headmaster was back in his usual seat, but he still looked distracted and tired. Her eyes slid down to the other end of the table where Vector was methodically cutting something on her plate into what looking to be very small, very precise pieces.

Settling into her seat, Hermione made half-hearted noises of acknowledgement at Lavender as the other girl chatted beside her, completely oblivious to Hermione's distraction. Lavender had, sometime in the last week, decided that Ron was quite a catch. Somehow, she'd got it into her head that Hermione would be a willing ear to long, rambling discourses on the wonderfulness of the youngest male Weasley.

Frankly, Lavender was beginning to annoy Hermione. Thankfully breakfast arrived and proved to be a sufficient distraction before Hermione did something she might not necessarily regret, but would definitely feel guilty about later.

With Lavender's chatter finally ceased, Hermione's attention swung over to the Slytherin table. Slytherin House's mood as a whole was usually a fairly good indication of what kinds of things were happening in and out of Hogwarts. Of course, reading the Slytherins wasn't always that easy to do but this morning she noticed several students who had distracted or worried looks to them. That did not bode well, especially considering Snape's absence.

To make matters worse, the previous evening had been the full moon. She'd been reading the _Daily Prophet_ like everyone else and knew that Voldemort was sending out attacks on nights of the full moon to take full advantage of the werewolves that had gone over to his cause. With the Order's continued use of the house-elves, the reported successful attacks had been dwindling but the attacks themselves hadn't stopped. The Order and even the house-elves couldn't be everywhere.

She was afraid that with Snape missing from dinner the previous evening, that the long awaited, and dreaded, summons from Voldemort had occurred. She poked at her porridge. _What if Snape hadn't healed enough? What if Voldemort killed him? What if-_

The sound of beating wings filled the chamber as the morning flight of owls delivered their package and letters. Still concentrated on Snape, she absently paid the _Daily Prophet _post owl before tucking the paper beneath her thigh on the bench.

_Is there anything I can do from a S.N.O.R.T. perspective_? she wondered. Probably not, she decided. But that did remind her that she wanted to get the Marauder's Map back from Harry. Maybe she could find a way to copy the map so she wouldn't be so obvious in her wanting to have it and keep it. Harry had been accommodating enough last year, but she couldn't hold onto the map for long without arousing suspicions.

"Hermione?" Lavender nudged her shoulder.

"Hmm?"

Lavender was looking odd, her expression pinched. "You get the _Prophet_, don't you?"

The question made Hermione's blood freeze. She scanned the Great Hall, its usual noisy morning routine was silenced as heads all across the room were bent together. Snatching her own paper up, she opened it to the front page as Harry, Ron and Dean gathered around her.

A picture took up almost the entire top half of the paper. It centered on the phone booth that was the street entrance to the Ministry of Magic complex. The greenish Morsmordre hung luridly against a darkening sky. Beneath the picture in three inch, bold, scrolling type, the headline read:

**MINISTRY IN CHAOS AS MINSTER OF MAGIC SCRIMGEOUR ASSASSINATED!**

_This paper has learned that at 23:06 last evening, the Ministry of magic was targeted by You-Know-Who's forces. Our late Minister of Magic Rufus Scrimgeour staged a heroic and valiant fight against the forces assailing the Ministry. This reporter was told personally by Pius Thicknesse, Head of the Department of Magical Law enforcement, that our Minister of Magic Scrimgeour put up a considerable fight in his final moments, refusing to talk even while being tortured by Death Eaters. (See side story: The Life of Rufus Scrimgeour, page 6)._

_This reporter has also learned that Pius Thicknesse will be appointed Acting Minister by the Wizengamot until such time as the current lawlessness running rampant through our community can be contained._

_Acting Minister Thicknesse's first order of business this morning was to declare Martial Law. All citizens are urged to remain calm in their homes until such time as further news is broadcast. (See side story: Who is Pius Thicknesse, page 8). Acting Minister Thicknesse also stated that he will be sending out Aurors to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to ensure that all students are well protected in this dangerous time._

_This reporter wants to know how the Ministry is going to respond to this deplorable attack upon the very foundation of our society? If even the Ministry is vulnerable, who is going to protect the citizens of Wizarding Britain?_

"You-Know-Who is in control of the Ministry. I'd bet everything I own that Thicknesse is either a Death Eater or Imperiused."

Hermione cast a startled look at Ron. He shrugged under her regard.

"It's what I'd do," he said, "if I was trying to gain control. Take control of the Ministry and put my own puppet in place – someone who looks harmless but that I could direct. It makes strategic sense and puts You-Know-Who in a power position to control the board."

"What do you mean 'control the board'?" Dean asked.

"In chess terms, yeah, that's what he's done. And them sending Aurors here . . . that's not for protection. That's to control us – to control Harry."

* * *

**Author's Note 3:** Five points to the person who correctly catches the nods to Babylon 5 and to Marvel comic books. (Yes, I am a geek.)

**Author's Note 4:** I also wanted to share with you all some artwork that was very graciously done for this story by the very talented laniekayaleese. She created a line art drawing that can be found at the link below – (don't forget to remove the spaces)

Laniekayaleese -- http : // laniekayaleese . deviantart . com / art / Hermione-at-her-Needle-Lines-96883830

Then two more talented artists, Paper-faces and Belfrybat, colored in the drawing, each doing their own different take on the original.

Paper-faces – http : // paper-faces . deviantart . com / art / At-her-needle-coloured-101351996

Belfrybat – http : // belfrybat . deviantart . com / art / Hermione-at-her-Needle-103085611

As someone who can't draw a stick-figure, I'm delighted with these ladies' variations on one of my favorite scenes from this story. Please take a few minutes and check out the pictures and leave them a kind comment or two if you feel so inclined. Thanks -C


	34. Ch 32: Inappropriate

**Author's Note 1:** I love reader questions and I usually try to respond to most reviews, especially the ones that ask me things about the story. I admit, some chapters I'm better at it than others. So, here is my plea to you wonderful readers – if you ask things in a review, give me a way to respond. Arrrggghhhh!! Several of you asked great questions or made excellent points about the last chapter but didn't leave an email addy or sign into FFN. It was just making me nuts not being able to respond. And really, do you want a nutty author? Well, an even nuttier author.

* * *

**  
Chapter 32: Inappropriate**

The babble of voices was rising quickly towards an uproar as more and more students read the paper and flipped through the additional articles in the _Prophet_. Hermione was listening with half an ear to the conversation at the Gryffindor table. Her main focus was on Dumbledore at the Head Table. _Why isn't he doing anything? Why doesn't he say something? He's just sitting there like he's waiting for something_.

As the doors to the Great Hall burst open with a loud bang, Hermione realised what the headmaster had been waiting for.

"Oh God, not him again," Harry muttered.

Auror John Dawlish stood in the doorway, wiry grey hair backlit and haloed by the light spilling in from the hall. Five other men stood in a semi-circle behind Dawlish, all solidly built and capable looking. Silence spread through the room like a ripple across a pond. Professor Dumbledore stood, for once his age and power settling around him in an almost visible cloak. "Auror . . . Dawlish, isn't it?"

As Dawlish had been one of those that had been sent to arrest Dumbledore during the whole Dumbledore's Army fiasco, Dumbledore was well aware of who he was. The subtle dig at unremarkability hit its mark as Dawlish stiffened in annoyance.

Dumbledore gave him a genial smile. "My condolences on the Ministry's recent loss. Rufus Scrimgeour was a fine man and wizard. As it is almost time for the students' lessons to begin," – he gestured back toward the entryway and the stairway entrance to his own office beyond – "perhaps we can discuss your somewhat abrupt entrance in the comfort of my office." Not giving Dawlish time to say otherwise, Dumbledore turned to Professor McGonagall. "Professor, would you dismiss the children after breakfast?"

Auror Dawlish, however, quickly found his footing. "No one is going anywhere." He gave Dumbledore back the bland, genial smile he'd given him a moment earlier. "Some announcements need to be made and _then_ the children will be returning to the dormitories while we secure the castle. Classes will resume tomorrow."

Dumbledore's smile turned frosty. "The Ministry has no authority–"

"Under Martial Law, the Ministry has every authority, up to and including closing Hogwarts . . . for the safety of its students, of course."

"Yes, the Ministry has shown great care for the students of this institution the past few years." Several students, especially from the Gryffindor table, chuckled at that acerbic pronouncement. "So, what can Hogwarts do for the Ministry?"

As his men spread out against the far wall, Auror Dawlish stepped further into the Great Hall until he came to the end of the Ravenclaw table. Climbing up onto one of the benches, he stepped onto the tabletop bringing him level with those seated up at the Head Table.

Hermione heard one Ravenclaw mutter, "How rude!" The sound carried in the too-still room.

The action though had the effect of drawing everyone's focused attention. Dawlish pulled a scroll out from the bag at his shoulder. Snapping it open, he began to read:

_"By Order of Acting Minister Thicknesse, by the authority granted him by the Wizengamot on 19 October 1997, the Ministry of Magic is declaring Martial Law._

_"In accordance to this declaration, the following articles shall be enacted:_

_1. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is now under the direct control and protection of the Ministry of Magic._

_2. All wizarding citizens falling into one of the following categories: Orphans, Witches or Wizards with one Muggle parent, Witches or Wizards with two Muggle parents,  
or Witches or Wizards born of wizarding parents but residing within Muggle households are hereby declared as wards of the Ministry of Magic and are now under the full  
protection and guardianship of the Ministry of Magic."_

Several whispered conversations sprung up around the Hall as students affected by the new declarations expressed their opinions.

"Those bastards!" Harry hissed under his breath. "You were right, Ron. This isn't about protecting Hogwarts. This is about getting to me."

"Easy, mate. Don't do anything rash. If you do, that gives them an excuse to take you."

Harry's hand twitched towards his wand. "They can try. I'll leave Hogwarts and go live in the wilderness before I become a puppet for the Ministry."

"Honestly, Harry," Hermione snapped, "no one is going to go live in the woods. You think you'll be able to survive on mushrooms and berries?"

For a split second it looked like Harry was about to lose his temper before he unexpectedly grinned at her. "If I run away to the woods, will you and Ron come with me? Someone needs to point out which mushrooms are edible."

She grinned back at him as she smacked him playfully on the shoulder. "Git."

"So, if we aren't going to run away to the woods, what are we going to do about them?" he asked, gesturing towards the Aurors. "We need to know what they're planning."

"I may not be Fred or George, but I've learned a thing or two." With that, Ron climbed to his feet. "Excuse me, Auror Dawlish."

The Auror swung around towards the Gryffindor table, along with every other set of eyes in the Hall. Expressions ranging from shocked to amused met Hermione's gaze. She glanced up at the headmaster again and thought she read something closely related to alarm there.

Ron's nose rose an inch into the air and his voice took on a supercilious and ingratiating whine. "Ron Weasley here, sir. Head Boy. I think it's wonderful that our Ministry is taking such a decisive stand to protect Hogwarts and my fellow students from the depravities being visited on the wizarding world by You-Know-Who and his followers."

Ginny was staring at her brother like she'd never seen him before.

Almost impossibly, Ron's nose went even higher in the air. "While I certainly can't speak for everyone," – although his tone said that was exactly what he was doing – "as Head Boy this year, I'd like to offer my assistance. As you are no doubt aware from your own years at Hogwarts, the Head Boy and Girl supervise the designated Prefects in conducting rounds of the castle."

Beside her, Harry whispered, "Oh my God, he's channeling Percy."

Beneath the table, Ron kicked at Harry as he continued. "Even with such fine Aurors as yourself, the six of you won't be able to adequately patrol the entire castle. Perhaps we can work together to come up with a schedule that will help you maintain some semblance of order."

Dawlish seemed to consider this. "Ron Weasley?" Dawlish's gaze settled on Harry, his expression unreadable. "Friend of Harry Potter, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir."

His eyes never leaving Harry, Dawlish continued. "And with that red hair, I daresay a relation of Percy Weasley."

"Correct again, sir."

"Fine young man, Percy Weasley. He's got the right attitude to go far in the Ministry."

Ron nodded in agreement, but Hermione could see the fine muscles in his jaw bunching up as Ron gritted his teeth in annoyance.

"Excellent suggestion," Dawlish finally said, his gaze switching back to Ron. "Once everyone is dismissed, have your troops escort everyone back to their houses and then come back here. We'll go over our game plan then. Good lad. And with that," – Dawlish bowed mockingly in Dumbledore's direction – "we have only one other piece of business to perform."

"And what might that be, Auror Dawlish?"

"I would think that would be rather obvious, Headmaster." He paused and Hermione felt her stomach churn. She knew what was coming.

"Where. Is. Snape?"

"_Professors_," Dumbledore said, heavily emphasizing the title, "are only required to sit one meal a day. Other meal times are optional. Professor Snape is, in all probability, breaking his fast in his rooms. Or he may be in his classroom, or workroom." Dumbledore shrugged. "It is a large castle after all. I do not make it a habit to keep tabs on my professors every moment."

"Do not play me for a fool. You know everything that happens in this castle." The sarcasm deepened. "You are the great Albus Dumbledore, after all."

"Great, am I? How extraordinary. I can't say I feel great. Actually, I'm feeling rather peckish, as you've interrupted my breakfast. Muggles say it's the most important meal of the day, you know. Personally, I've always rather preferred lunch, but the Muggles seem most insistent. Are you sure you wouldn't like to get down off the table and sit at it properly and have a bite to eat?"

Dawlish began turning an ugly red color as Dumbledore continued to rattle on about breakfast. Dawlish finally interrupted with a shout. "I do not care about breakfast. I want Severus Snape!"

Dumbledore halted his ramble, blinking owlishly at the Auror, dotty old professor routine in full swing. "My dear boy, whatever for?"

Several of the Slytherins began laughing, and Hermione caught smiles on the faces of many other students. Dawlish's interrogation was rapidly beginning to spin out of his control.

The crimson spreading across Dawlish's face deepened more into the purples, and Hermione was fairly positive that she could see a vein beginning to throb in his temple. "Several witnesses to the attack at the Ministry said they recognized Snape," Dawlish ground out. "The man identified as Snape was wounded with a distinctive hex when he attempted to escape justice. He will be identified."

Dumbledore clapped his hands together. "Well, then, there you go. Professor Snape couldn't have been your man. Not a scratch on him. Are you sure you wouldn't like breakfast? The Hogwarts house-elves make a fine scramble."

"I want—"

"To speak to me. Really, Auror Dawlish, if I had known missing breakfast this morning would cause such a furor, I certainly would have made more of an effort to attend."

Hermione felt the breath leave her in a _whoosh_ of relief as Dawlish whirled, wand drawn, to face the man standing in the doorway.

"Snape."

Snape inclined his head, the manner one of a superior granting audience to an inferior. "Auror Dawlish," – his eyes cut to the other Aurors standing with wands drawn – "and friends."

Dawlish jumped from the table, directing his men to converge where Snape stood. "By order of the Ministry you are under arrest for attack on the Ministry of Magic and for the murders of Minister Rufus Scrimgeour, Under Minister Ian Bloodgood and Under Secretary Hazel Higgenbottom. You will surrender your wand and yourself to Auror custody immediately."

"I really don't think that will be necessary, Auror Dawlish."

The room held its collective breath as Dawlish raised his wand, its tip pointed at Snape's heart. "I say it will." He grinned cockily. "Are you resisting arrest?"

By now the entire Slytherin table was on its feet, loud protests being yelled at the treatment of their Head of House.

"Auror Dawlish," Dumbledore thundered from the High Table, in a voice that quieted the entire room. "You stated earlier that witnesses placed Professor Snape at the scene and injured. As you can see, he is NOT injured. And I am sure that the professor will be more than happy to provide you with his wand for a _Prior Incantato_ spell."

Dawlish was still wearing a smug expression that made Hermione nervous when Dumbledore added, "This is also neither the time nor place to hold an inquisition. I would _suggest_ that this conversation be moved elsewhere."

"Of course, Headmaster. I think we can resolve this rather quickly."

"Mr. Weasley?"

Ron shot to his feet. "Yes, Headmaster?"

"You have volunteered the Prefects to help maintain order the castle. Escort everyone to their dormitories. Breakfast is over."

Ron gave a sharp nod and then gestured to Hannah Abbott, the Head Girl, and to the Prefects to gather up their respective Houses. As he, Hermione and Harry were about to split up, Harry whispered, "I'll meet you guys in the Room of Requirement."

Ron gave him a grin. "Bring your cloak and the map. We might need them."

* * *

Ron slipped into a Room of Requirement that resembled the Gryffindor Tower common room. Harry and Hermione were waiting for him exactly as he'd pictured they would be. Harry was pacing impatiently, and Hermione was studying the Marauders Map which had been spread out over a low table.

He gave the others a triumphant grin as he pushed the door closed.

"Well?" Harry demanded.

Ron collapsed onto one of the chairs conjured by the room. "Dawlish is a complete prat, and Abbott is never going to speak to me again. Is everyone still in the Great Hall?"

Hermione did a quick scan of the map. "Looks like the teachers have all gone to their rooms. Students are in the dormitories. The headmaster is in his office with Dawlish and three of his men."

"So what happened? Hermione already told me about Dawlish letting the Prefects continue walking rounds."

"Dawlish wants Abbott and me to meet with him every other day to give reports on anything the Prefects find and to discuss the security of the castle."

Harry gave Ron a sly smile. "Which means you'll know everything that they are interested in and any plans that they have for Hogwarts. And with the Map, we'll be able to work around them."

"For now," Ron said, "Harry, you really need to keep a low profile. Dawlish was all for the idea of the Prefects helping because he thinks I'll rat you out. He's particularly interested in what you are doing, what your schedule is like, and who you hang out with."

"What about Snape?" Hermione asked.

Ron shook his head. "I don't know. Dumbledore turned Snape over to them, and a couple of Dawlish's men went somewhere. I didn't know where."

"And I don't care," Harry commented.

Ron shook his head. "You might need to, mate. Dumbledore was way too full of himself and complacent about handing Snape over to Dawlish. I don't think Dawlish is going to be able to pin anything on him."

"Damn. It would have been nice if the Ministry finally did something about that bastard. They can't even get that right."

Ron exchanged a look with Hermione and then said cautiously, "If he really is on our side, we're going to need him."

"We DON'T need him."

"He's the black queen, Harry. We do need him."

"Black queen? What are you talking about, Ron?"

Ron grimaced and closed his eyes, his forehead wrinkling up as he concentrated. A chess board materialized on the table in front of them.

"Don't you see, Volde–Voldemort – cripes, I hate saying that – is the black king." Ron reached over to the white king and picked it up. "You, Harry, well, you're not the white king. If anyone was, I'd say it was Dumbledore."

Setting the piece back down, he rearranged several of the other pieces around the two kings. "The kings don't do much. They stay behind the scenes and stay out of the conflict happening on the board. They just aren't very powerful."

"Dumbledore isn't powerful?" Harry asked with a derisive laugh.

"But he isn't, Harry," Hermione added thoughtfully. "Think about it. The prophecy is about you, not Dumbledore. You are the most powerful."

"Right," Ron agreed. "So that makes you the white queen. But the thing is, we can't go rushing in and confronting the Aurors or doing something stupid because that puts you, the queen, in a vulnerable position. The queen is the most powerful piece on the board, and you NEVER put her in a position where she can be easily taken, unless she's the bait in an unbeatable trap."

Harry knocked his knuckles against the board causing all the pieces to jump and glare up at him. "We aren't playing chess, though."

Ron picked up the black queen and twirled it between his fingers. "Actually, I think we are. Or, I think maybe Voldemort and Dumbledore are playing chess, and all of us are the pieces being moved around the board."

"I am getting really tired of being other people's pawns," Harry growled. "So I'm the headmaster's white queen and Snape is Voldemort's."

"That's just it, Harry," Hermione pointed out. "Why play their game when you can play your own? Don't let them turn you into a pawn." Remembering Sirius Black and the fiasco at the Ministry, she added, "Don't let the situation turn you into a pawn. Don't react. Think about every step."

Harry made a face but he seemed to be listening to them. "So what? I kill Snape first and then Voldemort."

Panic flared in Hermione's stomach, but Ron spoke up before she could protest.

"No. And quit being a stubborn prat. You're a pretty decent chess player, Harry, but your weakness has always been that you don't plan enough moves forward in advance. Plot the moves to either game. Snape is the black queen, and he can go two ways. If he's really Dumbledore's man, then we control almost the entire board because between the two queens, nothing could stand in their way."

Harry took the piece from Ron's hand and put it squarely back on the black side of the board. "And if he's Voldemort's man?"

Ron's expression was grim. "Then we are in serious trouble, and we need to come up with a way to neutralize Snape before we tackle Voldemort."

"Dumbledore trusts Professor Snape," Hermione said into the silence, feeling like she was saying it for the thousandth time. "Everything he has done up to this point says he's on our side. Every time we'd doubted him or suspected him," she reminded them, "we've been wrong."

"So we play out the game both ways."

Seeing as that was the closest she was going to get to making them see things her way, Hermione sat back. "Then we need to start planning, and the first thing I want to do is make a copy of the Marauder's Map."

"Why?" Harry asked.

Hermione didn't let the vague sense of guilt she was feeling halt her words. "You guys are going to need the Map to get around the Aurors. I'm going to make a copy of the map and watch Snape."

Harry grinned. "Good thinking."

* * *

Hermione was exhausted, but sleep eluded her. She, Harry and Ron had spent the rest of the morning talking about plans, the prophecy and how best to exploit Ron's new status as Auror stool pigeon. Hermione had also taken the Marauder's Map to begin her research on how to copy it for their use. She'd spent the rest of the day alternating between finally getting caught up with her revisions for N.E.W.T.s, writing up her notes for how the day's events could be imcorporated into her Arithmancy project, and checking the Map to see if Dawlish's men and Snape had returned to the castle.

She'd finally seen Snape return a little while earlier. He'd gone straight to his office and had not moved from that spot. After an hour of watching an unmoving dot, she'd finally decided that she could go to bed, although she'd been plagued by a vague sense of unease. In all the time she'd watched Snape the previous year using the Map, he'd rarely ever been that still.

She was worried about him, and sleep was slow in coming. She couldn't even say she was all that surprised when Rink appeared with a sudden _pop_ at the end of her bed. She took one look at Rink and knew that her fears had been justified. "Rink?"

"Master of Potions is unwell. Hermy will come."

She sat up, the covers falling around her. "Rink, I can't just–" She really needed to stop telling Rink 'I can't' when the house-elf had already made up his mind that 'she would,' which is how Hermione found herself sitting on the floor in Snape's shadowed office wearing nothing but her nightgown and no house-elf in sight. She hadn't even been able to grab her wand so she could transfigure herself a robe.

_Bloody fucking hell_.

Hugging her arms around herself, Hermione shivered. Even in her inadequate clothing, the room felt much colder than it should have. She half expected the hem of her gown to flutter in an icy wind. She frowned. She felt she was freezing, but if the room had really been that cold then the stones beneath her feet should have been icy too, instead they were no more than their normally cool temperature.

She stepped further into the office, her bare feet soundless against the stones of the floor. _Wand. I want my wand. I'm going to kill Rink. I really really want my wan_–_ Shite_.

She found Snape. He was sitting on the floor, knees drawn up, and arms outstretched across them. His head hung down between his arms and even from where she stood she could see fine tremors running through his body every few moments. The chill in the room seemed to intensify as she stared at him.

Suddenly, she was reminded of another time when she'd felt an unnatural cold seeping into her bones. Snape had been there as well, and he'd just come from a Death Eater meeting. She was fairly sure that Snape had been part of the Death Eater raid on the Ministry the previous evening, and then he'd gone straight with the Aurors. He was doing this, whatever _this_ was.

She tried to remember that night. Had Dumbledore felt the cold? She didn't think so. Then the pieces clicked into place. Snape was a Legilimens, a powerful one at that, and she shared a magical Affinity with him. Whatever he was doing – and from the chill settling into her, she couldn't think it was good – he was either unconsciously projecting, or she was unconsciously tuning in.

_It's like I'm freezing from the inside out._ She shivered again, unable to stop her quick intake of breath. The sound was soft, the barest inhalation, but in the silence of the room, it sounded like thunder.

Snape's head snapped up, his eyes like black pits in the gloom of the room. Hermione shivered again. She had no doubt now that Snape was the cause of this. If Winter could be said to have a look, it was there in his eyes. _How in the name of all that was Holy did he hold all that in when he confronted Dawlish in the Great Hall earlier? How had Dawlish not seen it?_

They stared at each other for long minutes – Snape blinking at her as if she was some conjured phantasm – Hermione because she was afraid to either move or speak, unsure how he would react to either action.

"Are you real?" His voice was hoarse and rusty sounding, not at all like his usual smooth baritone. She wondered briefly what Dawlish had made of that.

"Yes."

He contemplated that for minute, reconciling it with some notion in his head, as if he didn't quite believe her.

"You are in . . . ." He frowned. "You are barefoot and in your nightclothes. Again." He gave her what could only be described as a world-weary sigh. With a wave of his hand, his teaching robes, which had been hanging on a hook against the wall, flew over to land in a heap of cloth at her feet. Snape lowered his head back down. "Go back to your tower, Miss Granger."

Taking a moment to wrap herself up in Snape's robe, although she doubted it would do much for the cold assailing her, Hermione considered her options: act like a Slytherin or act like a Gryffindor?

_Know thyself._

Gathering up the hem so she wouldn't step on it, Hermione crossed the last few feet and slid down the wall to sit at Snape's side.

He didn't move his position, but she heard him growl, "Girl–"

Daring to interrupt, she said quickly, "Rink brought me. He thought you needed me." She hesitated, then added, "I think you need me."

"Need?" He snorted in derision. "I don't need help. No potion or salve, nor Alverez' incantations can fix me."

Hermione didn't answer, and Snape didn't push again to get her to leave. She remembered what she'd told Ron: _Tons of books that mention human touch and how it works for and against magic. Touch can denote comfort and caring and love. It can ground us and remind us of where we are and who we are_.

Touch.

A mere two inches separated them. Cold swirled around them, she could almost hear it whistling through the gap.

He'd been part of the attack on the Ministry. She knew it with a deep certainty. He'd performed Dark Magic. And while she didn't like to think about it, he might have even killed someone during that raid. She also knew that whatever the cold was, whatever he was doing to maintain his control, it was hurting him.

Touch. Caring. Love.

Taking a deep breath and digging up every bit of courage she possessed, Hermione slid over those last two inches. As her shoulder touched his, Snape's entire body went rigid.

"Granger . . ." There was a wealth of warning in his voice.

"You're cold." As if to underscore her words, a hard shiver ran though them both.

His head came up to lean back again the wall. "You can feel . . ." he trailed off before muttering softly, "Of course you can, because I'm not allowed even that bit of privacy." More loudly he said, "My apologies. Our Affinity makes it hard to prevent bleedthrough, and I have been unable to follow my . . . normal routine." He took a deep breath and the chill lessened. "You may leave now."

W_here Angels fear to tread._ "Stop it," she said softly and then taking the biggest risk of her life, she reached out to grasp one of his pale hands. Lacing her fingers through his, she used her other hand to lightly chafe the back of his hand. "I can't give you whatever your normal routine is, but I do know that cutting off the bleedthrough isn't the same as fixing the problem." She gave his hand a squeeze. _This_ will fix it."

He used her own intonation back at her. "_This_ is highly inappropriate."

It might have been inappropriate, but she noticed that he hadn't pulled away from her. At least not yet.

"You asked why I'm a Gryffindor." She chuckled softly. "Maybe it's because no one else would be this–"

"Foolish."

She shrugged against him. "I was going for daring."

Silence fell between them. Hermione continued to rub his hand between her own, the movement soft and slow. She studied the hand trapped between hers. It was an elegant hand, the palm solid and square with long fingers. She'd seen these hands move with amazing grace and fluidity when preparing potions. She'd seen them steady, sure and infinitely dangerous when holding a wand. She'd also been privileged to see them gentle when he'd taken care of her after she'd nearly drained her magic.

On another man she wouldn't have been surprised to know that they belonged to a surgeon or a concert pianist. From a distance, they were beautiful. It was only when you saw them up close that you could see the damage – the scars, the burns and cuts, the pinky finger that looked to have been broken and never set correctly. The palms were rough, and she could feel several thick calluses beneath her fingertips.

Hermione felt her heart constrict, the pressure beneath her breast almost painful. These were the hands of a man who would do whatever was necessary, regardless of the cost.

_Oh, Hermione Jane Granger, this is so much more than a silly crush, and I am in so much trouble._

When she had her emotions under control, she said, "You were there. At the Ministry," she added, as if there was any doubt this night about where _there_ was.

Soft as a sigh. "Yes."

"I'm sorry." It sounded, and felt, totally inadequate.

It was his turn to shrug, although his was stiff and unnatural against her shoulder. He was uncomfortable but still not pulling away. She counted that as a remarkable victory.

"The Aurors?"

"Spent several fruitless and frustrating hours questioning me using a variety of methods."

Hermione grip tightened at his words as anger coursed through her. She was startled when she felt his hand squeeze back in reassurance. "They could pin nothing on me. My . . . duties at the Ministry were targeted elsewhere."

"Oh."

"The Dark Lord is now aware of the full prophecy and Potter's role."

"Oh," she said again, because really, what else was there to say.

Long minutes passed, and finally she sought to fill the silence. "You're warmer."

A pause. "Marginally."

Again the silence fell between them. _Okay, so I'm uncomfortable too_.

Continuing with her touch, she sought something . . . anything to take his mind off the two of them sitting together, holding hands, in this shadowed room. She went with the first thing that popped into her head. "I'm holding a Potions revision class."

It was a moment before he responded. "You held one last term. Mr. Longbottom and someone else."

"Colin Creevy," she identified.

"The staff has heard rumors of a class this term."

She could feel him slowly relaxing against her, the tension bleeding away. Even the cold seemed to be dwindling as the painfully long pauses between his words shortened.

She grimaced. "That would have been Colin." Even she couldn't tell if it was fondness or exasperation that colored her voice. "He told a few people about the class. They told a few other people. Not that it was ever a secret, we just didn't speak about it. It was originally just for Neville, anyway."

He paused again before he spoke. "And now it has grown out of hand."

"Like a Tanglevine," she said ruefully.

"You must have done an adequate job. Misters Longbottom and Creevy had noticeable improvements in their scores."

She laughed quietly, her shoulder knocking against his with the movement. "It was actually you that did the work."

"Me?"

"I held _your_ class, complete with dreaded Potions master." She could almost feel his interest now, even though he wasn't looking at her, and she was both afraid for what she was about to reveal and elated that the ice no longer seemed to be flowing through her veins. "I impersonated you."

"Impersonated?"

"Clothes, hair, eyes . . . manner."

Silence filled the room again as he took this in. "Was Mr Longbottom suitably terrified?"

Again she laughed. "Yes."

"And the current class?"

"I haven't introduced them to your doppelganger yet. I wasn't sure if I should since I have more students now. But, well, Potions just doesn't seem like Potions without you."

"I am sure," he said dryly, "that there are those who count that as a blessing. Show me."

That startled her. "What?"

"Show me."

"I can't." She shook her head. "Rink didn't give me time to grab my wand before bringing me here."

Almost immediately a length of ebonized wood appeared before her. "Show me," he said again.

She swallowed the lump that appeared in her throat. _He can't mean . . ._. But there was no doubting the wand being presented to her. Slowly she disentangled their hands, and taking the wand, climbed to her feet. She couldn't meet his eyes as she took a few steps away from him.

The wand was warm in her hand, as if it had been resting next to his body and she tried very, very hard not to think about that. Clinching her fingers tight, she performed the glamour spell and with a wash of cool magic she became Granger-Snape.

There was no sound at her transformation, and fear clutched at her insides. Raising her eyes to finally meet his, she found his expression unreadable. The fear rose up in her throat in a wave of nausea.

"I'm—" she was going to say 'sorry', but never got the chance as his stony expression broke and Hermione Granger witnessed Severus Snape dissolve into helpless gales of laughter.

* * *

I feel like I ought to have an Author's Note 2 here because I always seem to have multiple author notes, but I got nothing. –C


	35. Ch 33: Denial

**Author's Note 1:** I wasn't sure about the first part of this chapter and I really don't like repeating a scene we've already witnessed but I felt that it was important to understand the scene from Snape's POV. I hope you guys aren't bored with his take on things.

**Author's Note 2:** Several of you have mentioned that as the ending is drawing near you wanted to re-read the story from the beginning to refresh your memories on all the things that have happened in the story. To that end, I share with you a summary I received in a review from reader Levans. It made me laugh and I felt the need to share: _I finally went back and re-read the first several chapters. We know Granger has an affinity to Snape. He still has the sheets to magically help him- the House of Granger has been created. Ears are flapping, tails are wagging, and the Death Eaters now controls the ministry. Potter is holding a Defence class, dabbling in the dark arts, Snape is the black Queen, Harry the White, and its Chess all over the place. Strategy is being developed, hands are being held, and affection grows between the protagonists. Vector has rogue lines, Healer Alvarez is to be thanked for the continued life of Snape, Dumbledore is the eyes, ears and mastermind of the final battle, but not part of it?_

Thanks to Whitehound and Keladry taking the time to wrestle my wild commas into submission.

* * *

**Chapter 33: Denial**

Tonight was bad. Worse than bad. He'd kept up the Occlumency imagery too long. He knew better. Knew what it would cost him but he'd been without a choice.

The raid on the Ministry of Magic the night before. Such senseless death and destruction.

And the Dark Lord, so pleased to have him at his side once more. The favoured tattling child bringing bits and snips and drops of rumor, innuendo and truth. Always the truth embedded somewhere to make the swallowing of the lies go down smoothly.

Another shudder rippled through him, though whether of disgust or cold, even he could no longer tell.

And the prize truth, wrapped in a pretty lie about the prophecy. How the Dark Lord had so eagerly swallowed that one down. So like Nagini gulping down her rats – head, fur, bones and tail.

The phantom cold chilled his bones. Closing his eyes he saw only endless ice and a lifeless pond. No choice. No recourse. No help or hope.

Aurors everywhere when he was finally able to return. Poking at his mind with a Ministry-trained Legilimens. Making him drink Veritaserum. He snorted softly. He was a Potions master and served both the Dark Lord and Albus Dumbledore . . . as if a Ministry drone could see beyond the things he wanted them to see.

He clenched his hands into fists to stop the trembling. They should have got him drunk instead. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been well and truly pissed. He snorted again. Firewhisky, the great equalizer.

Why couldn't he thaw the lake? Too long. Too long gone. He couldn't break the ice.

It was the sound that drew him – soft, the barest whisper of indrawn breath where no sound should be.

She'd appeared out of the darkness like a ghost, the flickering lamplight casting her in and out of shadow. "Are you real?" he'd asked, not sure in that moment if perhaps he hadn't conjured her in his need. _It was possible_, he thought, as a shiver rolled through him.

"You are in . . . ." He frowned as he glanced at her toes peeping out from beneath the hem of her nightdress. "You are barefoot and in your nightclothes. Again."

_Innocent. Staring down at me with eyes bright with . . . mucking around in the blackest of dirt. If I laid my hands upon her would . . NO!_ Forcefully, he pushed those thoughts aside and down, deep under the ice.

Dark Magic. Black Magic. Out of control. Twisting his thoughts.

He sighed, the sound coming from the depths of his being. A wave of his hand and his teaching robes flew to land in a heap of cloth at her feet.

Severus lowered his head back down. He tried to send her away, tried to do the right thing. He almost smiled at that one. Who was he to even contemplate _the right thing_?

"Go back to your tower, Miss Granger." _Where all the innocent princesses should be_.

He heard the rustle of his robes, waited for her to leave, sure that she would do what everyone from Albus to Arrosa Alverez and others had always done and go away when he told them to leave.

What she should have done. What the innocent princess in the tower always does.

He really shouldn't have been surprised when he heard her slide down the wall and settle next to him. He'd forgotten that Hermione Granger was no princess.

He didn't move, but instead growled out, "Girl–"

"Rink brought me," she interrupted. "He thought you needed me." She hesitated, then added, "I think you need me."

"Need?" He snorted in derision. "I don't need help. No potion or salve, nor Alverez' incantations can fix me." _Not even pretend princesses._

But she didn't push and he didn't ask her to leave again. Silence fell between them and Severus concentrated on the shivers wracking his body. Quiet was nice. He could do quiet, with only the sound of another person's breathing letting him know he wasn't alone, even if he didn't have the courage to look at her.

Until she moved . . . shocking warmth burning along his arm as she slid up against him. His entire body went rigid.

"Granger . . ." There was a wealth of warning in his voice.

"You're cold." As if to underscore her words, a hard shiver ran though them both.

His head came up to lean back again the wall. "You can feel . . ." he trailed off before muttering softly, "Of course you can, because I'm not allowed even that bit of privacy." More loudly he said, "My apologies. Our Affinity makes it hard to prevent bleedthrough, and I have been unable to follow my . . . normal routine." _Too long. I should have broken the ice hours ago._

He took a deep breath, concentrating on his imagery, narrowing his focus until he had himself under control once more. "You may leave now." His voice, to his own ears, was as frosty as the bleak scene behind his eyes.

"Stop it," she said softly and shocked him even further when she reached out to grasp one of his hands in hers. Lacing her fingers through his, she used her other hand to lightly chafe the back of his. "I can't give you whatever your normal routine is, but I do know that cutting off the bleedthrough isn't the same as fixing the problem." She gave his hand a squeeze. _This_ will fix it."

He used her own intonation back at her. "_This_ is highly inappropriate." _Sweet Merlin protect me. I can't do this._

But he didn't pull away. Couldn't pull away from the heat rolling off of her, of the softness of her hands enfolding his own.

"You asked why I'm a Gryffindor." She chuckled softly, the sound sliding along his tangled nerves. "Maybe it's because no one else would be this–"

"Foolish," he answered.

She shrugged against him, more heat flooding in to his body. "I was going for daring."

_Daring. Foolhardy. Insane_.

Silence fell between them. Hermione continued to rub his hand between her own, the movement soft and slow and he couldn't help but bask in her touch. _When was the last time someone touched just to comfort_? He was weak. He wanted to send her away but he didn't have the strength.

"You were there," she said, and then added, "at the Ministry." As if there was any doubt this night about where _there_ was.

_Now, she will pull away_. But he'd promised her that he'd speak the truth, so soft as a sigh he answered, "Yes."

"I'm sorry."

It was his turn to shrug, the slide of shoulder against shoulder making him uncomfortable.

"The Aurors?"

He gave a slight smile out into the darkness of the room, remembering the Aurors and their increasing frustration with him. "Spent several fruitless and frustrating hours questioning me using a variety of methods."

Her grip tightened at his words and it took him a moment to realise that she was trying to reassure him. A moment's hesitation and he gave her a slight squeeze back. "They could pin nothing on me. My . . . duties at the Ministry were targeted elsewhere." At the Dark Lord's side. Untraceable potions. Unnamed poisons. Severus was too good a spy to ever leave traces of himself behind. No _Prior Incantato_ would ever catch him.

"Oh."

He caught no condemnation in her voice so he added, "The Dark Lord is now aware of the full prophecy and Potter's role."

"Oh," she said again.

Long minutes passed and he slowly relaxed back against the wall, ignoring the warnings of his tattered conscience.

"You're warmer."

Closing his eyes he focused on his mental imagery. The lake's edges were free of ice though the center still remained frozen. He concentrated, forcing himself to relax and let the walls melt away. "Marginally," he said, reopening his eyes.

Again the silence fell between them.

"I'm holding a Potions revision class."

Unsure if a response was required from him, he waited a moment before saying, "You held one last term. Mr. Longbottom and someone else."

"Colin Creevey," she identified.

"The staff has heard rumors of a class this term."

More of the tension bled away under the inconsequential small talk, along with the cold that Severus could feel finally retreating.

"That would have been Colin. He told a few people about the class. They told a few other people. Not that it was ever a secret, we just didn't speak about it. It was originally just for Neville, anyway."

He could see where that was heading. "And now it has grown out of hand."

"Like a Tanglevine," she said ruefully.

"You must have done an adequate job. Misters Longbottom and Creevey had noticeable improvements in their scores."

She laughed quietly, her shoulder knocking against his with the movement. "It was actually you that did the work."

That surprised him. "Me?" he asked.

"I held _your_ class, complete with dreaded Potions master." _How?_ Almost as if she heard the thought, she said, "I impersonated you."

"Impersonated?" She couldn't really mean what he thought she meant.

"Clothes, hair, eyes . . . manner."

Then again, maybe she could.

Silence filled the room again as he took this in. It was a measure of his tiredness that the only thing he could think to ask was: "Was Mr Longbottom suitably terrified?"

Again she laughed, the sound spilling more warmth into his system. "Yes."

"And the current class?"

"I haven't introduced them to your doppelganger yet. I wasn't sure if I should since I have more students now. But, well, Potions just doesn't seem like Potions without you."

"I am sure," he said dryly, knowing the truth of his words, "that there are those who count that as a blessing." Now curiosity came. "Show me," he said.

His request startled her. "What?"

"Show me."

"I can't." She shook her head. "Rink didn't give me time to grab my wand before bringing me here."

He didn't hesitate, though his subconscious again whispered dire warnings. He presented her with his wand. "Show me," he said again.

Slowly she disentangled their hands, and he told himself firmly that he did not miss the warmth of her touch. Taking his wand with a hand that shook only a little, she climbed to her feet. Her eyes refused to meet his as she took a few cautious steps away and performed her spell.

He wasn't sure what he expected – some caricature of himself perhaps, but not this. It was an elegant bit of charm work, even he could recognise that. Severus found himself staring at a distorted image of himself wearing Granger's face, her eyes wide with apprehension.

"I'm—"

She was him – black haired, black eyed and _still_ wearing his robes. It started small, low in the pit of his belly. He felt the corner of his mouth twitch. He fought to control it, inhaling deeply through his nose. It was no use. Quite suddenly he lost control, the laughter bubbling up. Inside, Severus felt the ice dissolving away.

The laughter was hard and unexpected, and tinged with no small amount of hysteria, but he couldn't care. And every time he thought he had himself under control he'd catch sight of Granger, black clad and wearing an expression somewhere between concerned and horrified.

After the second round of almost getting control of himself, she seemed to finally realise what was setting him off and with a wave of his wand, reversed her appearance.

Of course, now seeing her wrapped up in his own oversized teaching robes, one set of bare toes peeking from beneath the pooled hem, set him off again. It was long minutes before he finally got himself under enough control to look at her.

Taking deep gulps of air, he wiped at the tear tracks marring his face. "I should expel you."

Her eyes, already wide in alarm, got bigger.

"But I will not. Mostly because I have not the faintest idea how I would write it up. Disrespect . . . mockery, they don't even begin to touch," he gestured at her, "the sheer scale of what you've done."

She fisted her hands in the material of his overlong sleeves. "It wasn't like that." Taking a few shuffling steps forward, she knelt in front of him. "I didn't mean—" She stopped, earnest expression melting into exasperation. "You're making fun of me."

He gave her the smallest of smiles. "It seemed only fair."

As she rocked back on her heels, he debated getting up off the floor. His position was hardly decorous, but really, after tonight, he couldn't imagine he had much dignity left. And having her sit in front of him was preferable to her retaking the position at his side. _Touching him_.

"You're okay?" She stretched her hand out to him but didn't touch. _Maybe she too realises that moment is gone_. But the worry was still plain to read in her eyes and was as solid and warm against his skin as any previous touch.

"I am . . . well."

"What was—"

He shook his head and climbed to his feet. "Another time. I will explain another time. Redo the spell."

She looked dubiously at him but complied.

He studied her and the glamour that was wrapped around her. His teaching robes, oversized on her smaller frame, now fitted her perfectly. Thick soled, heeled boots gave her added height. He noted the way her stance had subtly shifted – her feet slightly further apart, her back straight.

He was amused to note that she was wearing a slightly condescending sneer. Although he thought that the riot of black, tangled curls that framed her face gave it a somewhat less sinister aspect than his own lifeless hair.

In essence, it was perfect, right down to the silver, serpent-embossed buttons.

"You did Potions revisions like that?"

The sneer melted away. "I did." She bit her lip in obvious hesitation, and then added, "They called me Professor Granger-Snape."

He snorted. "Of course they did." He circled around behind her. "Whatever else could they call you . . . Professor."

She whirled about to face him, her robes . . . his robes . . . swirling out around her. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep a grin from forming. Grinning was not conducive to maintaining his proper image. Not that he was even sure he had a proper image where she was concerned any more.

"You're making fun of me again."

"On the contrary, Granger, I am confused. I do not know whether I should be amused or angry. My experience with Gryffindor impersonations of me – most notably by the Weasley twins, I might add – were usually of the less than respectful kind."

"There was never any disrespect intended. It started as a way to make Neville more comfortable with your presence. It sort of grew from there. And . . ." she trailed off.

"And?"

She peeked at him from beneath her lashes, deep black eyes rather unsettling when he was more used to her usual brown. "I kind of like being able to slam the door and the way the robes swirl behind when I walk." Her voice dropped as if she was imparting a great secret. "And I always feel taller."

Biting his cheek wouldn't work this time. Giving in to the inevitable, he laughed, and then laughed that much harder to again see that startled look on her face.

Getting control of himself, he told her to release the glamour. The spell was no sooner broken than she was presenting him back with his wand.

"I think we need to return you to your room, now." _And I need desperately to restore my equilibrium_.

"What about—"

He waved her off. "Do what you will in regard your revision class. I would be curious, though, to know what Miss Worth thinks of _Professor Granger-Snape_."

"You know about . . . ." She made a face. "Of course you do."

"You will find that very little goes on in this castle that your teachers do not know about and I am always aware of what my Slytherins do. It is late and you need to be returned."

It was obvious that she didn't want to leave, but she nodded her head in silent acquiescence.

"Rink!" he called.

Severus was prepared to berate the house-elf for his presumption in bringing Granger in the first place, but taking one look at Rink's woeful expression left Severus with the distinct impression that he was about to kick a puppy. He decided that was a conversation for after Granger was returned to where she belonged. "Return her to her rooms and then return to me."

The elf didn't say a word, merely taking hold of the girl's hand and disappearing.

Alone again. Severus reached out for his robes even as he realised that Granger had taken them with her. He sighed, too tired to even be annoyed. If annoyed was even what he was feeling. His emotions were all over the place and he needed some solitude to sort out the last two days – the Dark Lord, Albus, the Aurors – all had left him reeling. Now there was Granger, possibly the most disruptive of them all. He turned away from that thought, not ready to deal with that added complication. One thing he was sure of though, the young woman was obviously chaos incarnate.

But now, with the silence and the quiet of the room, his exhaustion rolled over him. Without the constant draw of the feedback loop of magic to keep his Occlumency imagery up, he was beginning to crash. He couldn't sleep just yet, though his bed called to him. He needed to deal with Rink.

_House-elves._

Twelve years he'd been a teacher. Twelve years Rink had been assigned to him. In those years they'd had several discussions about Rink's duties and how Severus felt about the standard house-elf tendency toward punishment. Rink had been a model elf – unobtrusive, silent and helpful when needed. In all those years, to his knowledge, Rink had never taken the initiative to do something he thought went against Severus' wishes.

Now, within a few short months of meeting Miss Hermione Granger, Rink had become the equivalent of a house-elf rebel.

Rink returned with a soft _pop_, narrow shoulders held back and ears upright. Severus knew that look. Granger had given a last minute Gryffindor pep talk. Glaring down at the elf, he projected as much menace as sixteen years of teaching dunderheads could give him. "You and I are going to have a chat."

* * *

Rink had returned Hermione to her bed, in almost the exact same spot she'd left. She grabbed the elf's hand before he could leave. "Don't let Professor Snape scare you, Rink. You did the right thing coming to get me."

Rink's entire body, and not just his ears expressed how completely intimidated the elf was. "Rink was bad. Rink knew Master of Potions would not want Miss."

She knelt up so she was eye to eye with Rink. "You did the right thing," she said again. "Rink – oh, God, I can't believe I'm about to say this – if you need to, if you want to, I would be honoured to slam the front doors of Hogwarts on your fingers." She tried to smile but was unsure of just what her expression really looked like, as she added, "I would take care to swing them very hard."

It was obviously the right thing to say as Rink's entire demeanor brightened. "Hermy is a true friend." Giving a bob of his head, Rink disappeared.

Hermione let herself collapse back on the bed. _When did everything get so weird? I'm offering to help Rink punish himself and I was . . . I was . . . .Oh, God, I'm still wearing his robes._

The whole evening had a feeling of unreality to it. Snape had been . . . she could find no other word but _vulnerable_. That he'd allowed her to see that vulnerability was a gift beyond measure. He'd allowed her to offer comfort and more important than the offering, he'd taken the comfort she presented.

_He let me be his anchor._

And then he'd laughed, twice. She closed her eyes, remembering and savoring the sound of his laughter. It was such an unexpected sound that even now it curled her toes and brought an answering smile to her face.

Then within moments, he'd slammed the doors on his emotions and pushed her away, buckling on his proverbial armor once again.

Wrapping her arms around her chest she buried her nose in the thick fabric of Snape's robes. Inhaling deeply, she pulled in the mingled scents of smoke, herbs and the indefinable smell of Snape.

_Such a complicated mess_.

Wrapped in Snape's robes, Hermione replayed the scene over and over in her head until her thoughts drifted and she fell asleep to dream of hands, calloused and warm.

* * *

Hermione covered a yawn as she headed down the steps from Gryffindor Tower. Her late night was showing. While she could hear Harry, Ron and Neville having a quick-paced conversation behind her, most of the other students were quiet and reserved. She hardly blamed them. After the events of yesterday with the Aurors and the announcement that Hogwarts and the wider wizarding world was now under Martial Law, many students were anxious about what was to come. Everyone was wondering what new plans the Aurors had in store for today.

They didn't have long to wait. Hermione stumbled to a halt just inside the door of the Great Hall. Luckily, no one ran into her because everyone else was doing much the same. Auror Dawlish it seemed was taking a page from Dolores Umbridge's book, only larger and even more audacious. Writ in two foot high, black letters on the far wall of the Hall were the new Hogwarts rules:

Quidditch is cancelled until further notice of the Ministry of Magic.

Hogsmeade trips are cancelled until further notice of the Ministry of Magic.

Muggle-borns, and individuals with one Muggle parent or Muggle-born parent, will have a Tracer spell added to their wands to ensure their safe whereabouts at all times.

A small table had been set up under the list of rules, manned by one of the Aurors. A short line of students was already queuing up. A wave of anger washed through Hermione as she recognised them as those students who fell under the third rule.

A commotion at the Head Table drew her attention. Professor Sinistra was arguing with Professor Dumbledore, her voice getting louder with every word.

"I will not submit my wand to a Tracer spell. If they want my wand so badly I'll be happy to shove it-"

Dumbledore pulled his own wand, the Professor's voice abruptly cutting off, though Sinistra's violent hand gestures confirmed that the argument still continued.

Ron spoke up from behind Hermione. "This is bad. I didn't realise they were going after adults too."

Harry's expression was unreadable. "The bastards are closing the noose. They'll say it's about protection for anyone with close Muggle ties, but it'll give _them_ a way to find and track everyone."

"Easy targets," Neville agreed. "But what can we do?"

Hermione swallowed down the bile rising in her throat at the thought of standing in that line and offering up her wand. She shook her head, for once unable to come up with a clever solution. Even Ron shook his head.

It was Harry who finally answered, his voice grim and determined. "We do what they want, for now." Without a backwards glance he started for the queue.

Ron leaned down and spoke into her ear. "We wanted Harry focused on the real enemy. I'd say he just found it."

* * *

By the time Hermione slipped into Professor Vector's classroom for a little peace and quiet at the end of the day, she was feeling about as substantial as one of the castle ghosts. Professor Snape had been an absolute bear during Defence for some reason and Professor Flitwick had been giving her odd looks during Charms. Potions class had so far been the only normal class she'd attended during the day, Professor Slughorn being his usual congenial self.

He'd asked her again after class if she wanted to join his Slug Club, and she'd once again explained that she really didn't have the time this year. He was a nice enough man, she'd decided, but she always felt the need to wash her hands after dealing with him one-on-one.

As Hermione settled her things at her desk, she let out a sigh of annoyance as Auror Garmin walked into the room and took up a position against the back wall. Aurors had been coming in and out of classes for the past couple of days, much to the annoyance of both students and teachers. This was the fourth time today she'd seen Garmin, and a paranoid side that Hermione wasn't even aware she possessed until this point, was loudly announcing that the man was following her specifically.

Ignoring the man looming in the background, Hermione pulled out her Arithmancy books and the number table she was currently working on for her N.E.W.T. project. After discussion with Professor Vector, she had decided that her project would be something that would be useful to the Order and would stretch her Arithmancy skills. She was attempting to identify the rogue silver line that tracked through Vector's matrix.

She'd gone back to Vector's very first equation and was plotting number combinations. The work was tedious and time-consuming but its very exacting nature forced her mind away from spinning uselessly on things that she couldn't control.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been working when Vector interrupted her. "Miss Granger?"

"Ma'am?"

Professor Vector was holding two books out to her. "I'm glad I spotted you in here. Professor Flitwick asked me to give these to you. He thought they might help with your project."

Hermione frowned. Her problem didn't deal with Charms – that was Lisa Turpin's project. Before Hermione could voice her confusion, the two books were snatched from Vector's hands by the Auror.

"What are you doing?" demanding Vector.

"Looking for contraband," Garmin answered with the faintest of sneers.

"Those are Charms books, not contraband," her professor said, her voice as cold as Snape's had ever been.

The Auror just shrugged and tossed the two books back at Hermione. "So they are," he said with a smirk, secure in his power.

Vector glared at the man for a moment before her eyes sought Hermione's. "I think I'm going to close up the class for today, Miss Granger. Why don't you take your books back to Gryffindor Tower." She turned her glare back on the Auror. "I'm sure you'll find it much quieter reading there."

Hermione didn't want to head back to her rooms just yet. She had her revision class that night and had just been looking for a quiet spot to work while she waited for the time to pass. Stashing one of the books in her bag, she idly flipped through the other as she headed towards the Room of Requirement.

_Linking charms? Why in the world would Professor Flitwick give me a book on Linking charms?_

Still flipping through the book, Hermione let the castle's stairways play with her a while so what should have taken only four or five minutes ended up taking nearly twenty. She gave the last stairway an absent-minded pat as she was finally deposited in the correct hallway.

Reaching the Room of Requirement she found Agnes Worth waiting in the corridor, her presence reminding her of Snape's comment about wanting to know what Worth would make of Professor Granger-Snape.

Tucking the book, into her bag with the other one, Hermione gave her a quick smile and then paced the required three times, thinking about what she needed the Room to provide her with by way of the class. When the door appeared, she gestured Agnes inside.

After the two of them had settled their belonging, Hermione wandered over to the other girl's desk in what she hoped was a nonchalant manner. "Worth, why are you here?"

Agnes gave her a somewhat startled look before starting to pull her ingredients out of her bag. "I'm here to practice, same as anybody."

"I've seen your work," Hermione said. "You don't need the revision time."

"Maybe I'm here to spy on you."

Hermione couldn't hold back her snort of amusement at the other girl's slyly calculating tone. "Don't make me laugh. I'm not that interesting."

"Some might think you are. Muggle-born, clever, friend of Harry Potter. Some might think you're very interesting."

Hermione thought on this a moment while she watched Agnes set up her desk top. _Slytherin word games: riddles within riddles._ "Is that a warning or a threat, Agnes?" she asked, deliberately using the younger girl's first name, against convention.

That earned her a quick grin. "Do you think all Slytherins are evil, Granger?"

"No, I don't."

"Funny thing, I don't think all Gryffindors are stupid." Agnes gave another quick grin. "Well, not fundamentally stupid. Holding this class, amongst all the Houses, that's kind of stupid."

Hermione gave a grin of her own. "I prefer to think of it as brave and the right thing to do."

Agnes shrugged. "Stupid . . . brave. You still end up dead in the end."

"Which brings us back to why are you here, Agnes Worth of the House of Slytherin?"

"Could just as easily have been Ravenclaw, or Hufflepuff . . . or even Gryffindor. Worths are old and as pure-blooded as they come but we don't breed true like most families. Sorting Hat doesn't lie." She shrugged again. "And I don't bow to anyone."

"Sounds brave."

Agnes rolled her eyes, but a grin teased around her lips when she said, "Sounds stupid to me."

"And somebody had to be first." Hermione studied Agnes a moment longer. "How are your Defence skills and would you be interested in another revision class?"

A slow and rather sinister smile spread across Agnes' face. "Now, we're talking."

* * *

Severus settled into his usual chair at the table, not bothering to hide his disdain for the Auror that had been seated at his left. He had no doubt that Auror Dawlish had deliberately chosen the place so he could better keep his eyes on Severus. He squashed the urge to tell the Auror in great and exacting detail just who he was really working for now with the Ministry compromised. Severus knew himself to be just a diversion – a useful wild goose chase devised by the Dark Lord to keep the Aurors focused on him and not on the Ministry where it should be.

A useful tool, for now, he knew. Because he had no doubt that the Dark Lord, like Albus, wouldn't hesitate to throw him to the wolves if necessary. His stomach churned, acid rising in this throat. He inhaled deeply, pushing the nausea down.

He was gratified to see a cup of weak green tea appear before him along with a thin rice gruel. He'd noticed the previous year that his meals had changed and silently thanked whatever kitchen elf had noticed that he wasn't eating their usual fare.

Ignoring Dawlish, a move he knew annoyed the other man, he lifted his cup and surveyed the Great Hall, his gaze sweeping over the assembled students. They were subdued this morning, much as they had been for the last several meals, ever since the Aurors had instituted their new rules. Severus could almost smell the fear and anxiety. Sipping the tea, his gaze moved to his Slytherins. Eight-six students under his care and he had only the roughest estimation of what each of them would do and where their ultimate loyalties lay.

His gaze shifted down to Miss Worth. He'd done what he could there – nudging her in Granger's direction. Slytherins were not by nature trail-blazers, but where just one went, others would follow. If only to ensure that the first did not somehow acquire an unfair advantage. It was a heavy burden to place on the shoulders of a child but only a first year could have done the unthinkable and joined a Gryffindor-led revision class. He wondered what Agnes Worth had though of Professor Granger-Snape, and then had to take another sip of his tea to hide the automatic grin that thought provoked.

_Gryffindors._ His eyes moved to the Gryffindor table, where once he would have sought for messy black hair first. Now, his gaze was drawn first to brown curls. Her head was down, her nose buried in a book, completely oblivious to the students around her. Every so often she leaned forward to scribble furiously on a piece of paper. Potter and Weasley were sitting across from her this morning, their heads bowed together. Weasley was coming along nicely. It was becoming harder and harder to throw the young man off during their games.

As for Potter – he scowled – Lily's child. Bright, beautiful Lily. Every time he looked at the boy he saw Lily looking back at him in accusation from those green eyes. Anger coursed through him as it always did when he looked at Harry Potter. Lily had turned away from him, disgusted by his fascination with the Dark Arts. He'd loved her with everything he was and she'd cared for him, he knew that. But she'd been unable to love him, unable to accept all of him, even her caring tinged with that underlying distaste.

His eyes narrowed as he contemplated Potter. _There is your baby boy, Lily, walking down the same path I did. He's me, right down to the Dark Arts taint and for all the same old reasons. Do you love him still, Lily fair?_

Resentment rose within him and even knowing how destructive it was, he welcomed it as an old and familiar friend. So much alike he and Potter but with one great difference, the boy had a circle of friends, strong and true. He had Albus Dumbledore and Minerva. He had no doubt that Lily loved the boy still from wherever her soul rested.

He snorted softly at his own wretched wallowing in self-pity. Breakfast was not even over yet. It was way too early in the day to be spiraling down these well-trodden paths.

Granger caught his eye again just as her head lifted from the book. She flashed him a wide, toothy grin before returning to her scribbling.

Severus refused to acknowledge the feeling of warmth that spread through his chest as that smile chased away the bitterness.

"Severus?"

Severus swung his attention to the headmaster. "Sir?"

Albus was holding out a folded copy of _The Daily Prophet._ "Have you seen today's paper?"

Severus felt the acid churn again in his stomach at the look in Albus' eyes. Taking the paper, he flicked it open.

**ACTING MINISTER OF MAGIC THICKNESSE NAMES NEW SECRETARY OF WIZARDING SECURITY**

_Acting Minister of Magic Pius Thicknesse, in a bold move to guard the wizarding world from the depredations of You-Know-Know and his followers, has created a new Department of Wizarding Securiyt. The new Department will fall under the command of Mr. Devrom Dollort. In his welcoming and introduction speech, Minister Thicknesse was quoted as saying, "Mr. Dollort will be working closely with myself and the Wizengamot to ensure that peace and safety is returned to the wizarding world." (See page 8 for the full speech by Minister Thicknesse). (See page 9 for the new rules being instituted by the Department of Wizarding Security)._

Beneath a short paragraph was a picture of Minister Thicknesse shaking hands with and smiling at a handsome, dark-haired man in impeccably cut wizard robes.

Severus' breath caught in his throat, as the man in the picture turned from Thicknesse to smile out at the camera. Severus had known that the slow progression of 'becoming human' had finally succeeded but he'd not understood why the Dark Lord had begun the transformation. Now it was clear. Devrom Dollort was the Dark Lord.

* * *

**  
Author's Note 3:** Untangomas created a lovely drawing of the handholding from the previous chapter. Feel free to drop her a comment at her Deviantart account. The drawing is lovely. http: // untangomas . deviantart . com / art / Inappropriate - 106399863 (Don't forget to delete the extra spaces.)

**Author's Note 4: THE IMPORTANT NOTE** In an earlier chapter I told you guys that I was hoping to finish by the end of the year. Well, here it is the beginning of 2009 and I'm not done. I'm going to guess that not many of you are shocked. I hesitate to even make a pronouncement of a new goal date. Maybe I should just let you guys do a pool of dates (like a Baby Due Date pool) and the person who picks the actual completion date gets a free short story of their choice.


	36. Ch 34: Blitzkrieg

**Author's Note 1:** Brace yourself people, the sh*t is about to hit the fan. And just in case you ever wondered, my Lord Voldemort is not an idiot. In a different world, I'd like to think he would have read the Evil Overlord Rules (http: // www . eviloverlord . com / lists / overlord . html with special attention paid to #34.) Don't forget to remove the spaces.

Many thanks to Keladry and whitehound for comma assistance, fact checking and Brit-picking.

* * *

****

Chapter 34: Blitzkrieg

The man known as Devrom Dollort winked at the pretty young witch stationed outside his office door, pleased when she blushed at his attention. "Ah, Marantha, diligently guarding the inner sanctum, I see. How's everything this afternoon?"

Marantha smiled at her new boss. "Everything's good, sir. Your two o'clock is already here and waiting for you inside, and Mr Latimer from Law Enforcement confirmed that 2:30 this afternoon is good for him."

"Excellent, my dear." Devrom graced her with a smile. "When Mr Latimer shows, please send him in. Until then, see that I'm not disturbed."

"Yes, sir."

Turning from his assistant, he went through the massive double doors of his office. The smiling, congenial mask of Devrom Dollort dropped the minute the doors closed and the silencing and privacy wards engaged. "Report," he snapped, as he crossed the open space of the office.

Thorfinn Rowle, who'd been leaning against one of the leather club chairs facing the room's oversized desk, leaped to his feet. "All active Portkeys have been repossessed, per your instructions. We currently have people watching for illegals. If Snape's right about Dumbledore's interference we should catch those using these _mobile telephones_" – he said the words slowly as if unsure of the pronunciations – "soon enough."

"Sit, Rowle." He gestured to one of the chairs. "I am well pleased with the work you are doing for me."

Rowle took his seat as Voldemort leaned back in his chair, hands clasped before him. "Muggles and Muggle-borns are a pox on our once-great society. Make no mistake, we will deal with their infestation, but do not waste significant resources there now. The Muggles were only a diversion. Our next phase of plans should be of paramount concern to us at the moment." Leaning forward he fixed his eyes on Rowle. "We are at a critical junction, Rowle. It was here, at this point that Dumbledore and his Order ruined my plans the last time. The same mistakes cannot – will not – be made again.

The fevered light of the fanatic lit Rowle's eyes, much to Voldemort's satisfaction. "No, sir. Nothing will stop your rise to prominence. You have my life, my Lord."

"Good. What of the borders?"

"When Martial Law was instituted, the old wards under Ministry control were activated. Our people now control them." Rowle gave a toothy grin. "Once they were activated, all Apparation into or out of Great Britain came to a halt."

"Excellent. Over the next two weeks I want you to increase the attacks. Bella knows the targets. Coordinate your efforts with her. Once my new security measures are implemented, we'll scale back the attacks. The population will assume that the security measures are working and be more amendable to further controls."

"What about Dumbledore, my Lord?"

Voldemort chuckled. "You wish to attack Hogwarts?"

Rowle flushed. "I know the futility of that, my Lord. Hogwarts is well protected. But can't we move to remove the old fool?"

"No, he is right where we wish him to be. With Hogwarts being threatened, by the very nature of the wards that tie him to the school, he can't abandon it. He is locked up just as tightly as if he were in Azkaban. We know where he is and with Severus acting as my eyes and ears, we know what he is doing. By the same token, we know where Potter is. And there they both will stay, corralled and watched until a time and place of my choosing."

A short knock interrupted them. A moment later the door opened. "Mr Dollort, Mr Latimer is here. Shall I have him wait or are you ready for him now?"

"Send him in please."

A small, twitchy-looking man entered, his robes of impeccable quality, but cut too large and obviously padded across the shoulders, as if he was trying to appear larger and more substantial than he really was.

"Mr Latimer, come in. Please be seated. I believe you know Mr Rowle?"

"Yes, we've met at a few Ministry functions," he said, as he gave a polite nod of the head to Rowle.

"Good, good. Well, I'm sure you are curious as to why I've asked you here. And I do hope you understand the gravity of the situation and why I've brought it directly to you. In these times, it's always prudent to know who the key players are."

The other man puffed with pride, unaware of how his ego was being deliberately stroked. "I must say that I'm rather surprised you asked to see me. I would have expected you to seek out Mrs Bones, as Head of the department. But I'm here to help in any way I can."

"I was hoping you would say that. With Mr Rowle's help, my office has begun an intensive security check of Ministry personnel. I'm sure that I don't need to tell someone as intelligent as yourself that the attack He Who Must Not Be Named launched on our beloved Ministry could only have been accomplished with inside help."

Latimer pulled in a shocked breath. "Here within the Ministry? Unbelievable."

"Indeed." Voldemort pasted on his own expression of outrage. "And much to my own sorrow, I'm afraid that we've found one viper right within your own department. It's why I felt the matter should be brought directly to you."

"Magical Law Enforcement? You can't be serious. Mrs Bones would never tolerate any such . . ." Latimer's voice trailed off as he caught look on Voldemort's face at the mention of Amelia Bones. "You can't think that . . . that . . . Amelia Bones? Surely not." Latimer looked wildly between the two men. "Mrs Bones has been a long-time and staunch defender of the Ministry. There has to be some mistake."

"No mistake, I'm afraid," Voldemort said, his expression conveying just the right mix of deep sadness and disappointment. "We have eye witness accounts of her meeting secretly with one other well-placed follower of You-Know-Who."

Latimer, eyes wide, had shifted to the edge of seat. "I'm almost afraid to ask," he said, breathlessly. "Who could—"

"Arthur Weasley."

"No! He loves Muggles."

"Exactly, Mr Latimer." Voldemort thumped his desk in emphasis. "Can you think of a better cover to throw off suspicion?"

"Oooh," Latimer breathed out slowly, "I see. How diabolically clever. I never would have suspected." A worried expression crossed Latimer's face. "But you have proof?"

"Yes, more than enough to implicate them both."

Latimer's mouth set in a firm line. "You know, I never liked Weasley. There was always something off about the man. Always going on and on about Muggle this and Muggle that. It was always just a little too much, if you ask me. And Bones. I'm just shocked, I tell you. How can Law Enforcement help you, Mr Dollort?"

Taking care with his body language, Voldemort leaned forward across his desk towards Latimer. He pitched his voice lower to give a feeling of exclusivity and secrecy. "We suspect that Bones and Weasley are part of a larger network of You-Know-Who supporters feeding information to _Him_. We'd like to cut off that information network."

Latimer was now leaning forward as well, eyes bright with excitement. "What are you suggesting?"

"Nothing untoward or illegal I assure you." Voldemort held up his hands in a reassuring manner. "After all, while I believe our evidence is sound and irrefutable, due process must be followed. However, if these people are indeed secret supporters of You-Know-Who then we can't in good conscience allow them free reign. No, what I'm suggesting is simple -- arrest and detainment until such time as a full inquiry can be made."

"Yes," Latimer nodded, "I see what you mean. The Ministry can certainly hold them until after this whole mess with You-Know-Who is sorted out."

Devrom Dollort gave Latimer a warm smile, pleased when the other man preened under his regard. Latimer would be easy to control. "Of course, with Bones in Azkaban, Law Enforcement will need a strong guiding hand to coordinate the department. Would you be willing to be that person, Mr Latimer? I can certainly speak on your behalf with the Minister, if you are interested?" Voldemort waved a negligent hand. "But that is business for later. I have a short list of names." He pulled a pristine piece of parchment from his desk and picked up a new quill, handing both items over to Latimer. "We've already discussed Weasley and Bones. These are the others that we believe they have been in contact with."

* * *

Hermione contemplated the door to the Room of the Requirement. Harry was using the Room for his Defence revision classes on the off nights when she wasn't using it for Potions. The door looked different – darker and somehow more threatening. It was only natural that the door was different since it was Harry who'd conjured it, but still, wasn't a door just a door? Surely the whole dark-and-threatening thing was just an overactive imagination.

"This isn't a good idea," Agnes said tartly from behind her.

Agnes' hesitation gave Hermione's courage a needed boost. She twisted slightly so she could see the younger girl. "You agreed to it. _We_ agreed to it."

"I also said you're crazy."

"You aren't the first to have mentioned that," Hermione agreed with a sigh. "But it's got to start somewhere, and bravery doesn't begin and end with Gryffindors."

Agnes pursued her lips like she was trying to hide a smirk. "Just stupidity."

Hermione swung all the way around. "Oh, now that hurts, Agnes," she said with a laugh.

"Not as much as the hex Potter is going to send your way."

"You are far too young to be such a cynic."

Hermione found that she really enjoyed Agnes' company even if the girl was six years her junior. Agnes had a keen intelligence, a sharp wit and an even sharper tongue. She was beginning to consider the girl a friend and it was a rather novel experience. It wasn't that Hermione didn't have friends of her own outside of Harry and Ron, but somehow or another they were all guys. She'd never really had any female friends. The three closest female contacts she had were Ginny, Parvati and Lavender, and Hermione just couldn't imagine having this conversation with any of them.

"Okay, just follow my lead . . . and try to look harmless."

Agnes let out a laugh. "You have a strange sense of humor."

Taking a deep breath, Hermione once again confronted the door. Sending out a wordless plea to the universe for luck, she pushed open the door, hoping she wasn't making a huge mistake.

"Oy, Hermione, you're late," Ron yelled from the other side of the room as she stuck her head in the doorway.

"Sorry. Got detained." She caught Harry's eye where he was working on shielding spells with Finch-Fletchley. "I found someone who wants to work on her Defence skills with us."

"Sure," Harry said. He made a 'come here' gesture with his hand. "Bring them in."

Pushing the door open wider, Hermione stepped to the side and let Agnes walk through the doorway. It only took three steps into the room before silence reigned.

"Everyone, this is Agnes Worth." Silence greeted her introduction and Hermione was starting to panic when Luna came to her rescue.

"I'm Luna Lovegood. Most people call me Loony Lovegood."

"Unfortunate naming. Most people think I was named after a Dark witch." Agnes gave an indolent shrug before adding, "What can you do?"

Someone in the back of the room snickered softly, a sound that was completely drowned out by Harry's roar. "Are you crazy? She's a Slytherin. Or didn't you notice that snake patch on her robes?"

Silence again filled the room. Hermione, eyes narrowed, was just about to lay into Harry when Luna once again broke the quiet. "It's not like we can help our Houses, Harry. I think you would have made a masterful Slytherin yourself. You're very suited to that House." Obvious to Harry turning an alarming shade at red at her words, Luna smiled at Agnes before completely jumping topic. "Is it true that a captive Muttlethump lives in the Slytherin dormitories and tries to eat the unwary?"

Agnes blinked in befuddlement, a reaction of most people when first encountering Luna. "Can't say that I've ever seen a captive Muttlethump."

Luna nodded sagely. "Well, you're just a first year. It may wait a while before trying to eat you. I hear Muttlethumps are rather courteous that way."

"Hermiiiiooneeee!"

It seemed that Harry had once again found his voice. After that, it pretty much all went pear-shaped.

* * *

Hermione's head pounded, the pain feeling as if a vise were slowly squeezing her temples. Even the headache potion she'd downed after the fiasco of Harry's Defence revision wasn't helping.

She was almost sure that she could still hear the yelling that had erupted ringing in her ears. _Who in the world would have thought that one eleven year old girl could case such a ruckus?_i/

Hindsight being twenty-twenty, Hermione supposed she could have handled it a little better. She winced as one particularly loud exchange came back to her:

"_Why don't you just ask Malfoy to join us?" Harry had yelled. _

"_Maybe we should," she'd yelled back_.

There'd been a lot more yelling until, surprisingly enough, the Hufflepuffs in the group had reminded Harry of the Sorting Hat's song for unity among all Houses and the Ravenclaws, led by Anthony Goldstein, had pointed out that You-Know-Who was the enemy and not Slytherin.

Harry had been a less than gracious loser in the confrontation.

She rubbed ineffectively at her temples. At least one Gryffindor trait had worked in her favour, or maybe it was just a teenage boy trait. Either way, Harry couldn't let himself be seen as the 'lesser' man in the situation. He'd given a grudging acceptance and dragged poor Agnes off to a far corner where he'd proceeded to work on her shielding. Of course, working on her shields consisted of Harry showing her the proper technique for casting a shield once and then throwing hex after hex at her while she attempted to block them, a move that more often than not had Agnes being knocked arse over teakettle.

It might have been a trial by fire, but by the end of the session Agnes was blocking, or avoiding, practically everything Harry was throwing at her.

Hermione, angered and ashamed at Harry's behavior, had almost put a stop to it all until she caught a good look at Agnes' face. Her eyes had been narrowed in calculation and determination but a wide grin had been plastered across her face. It was then that she'd realised, even if Harry hadn't, that Agnes had won.

All of which should have left Hermione feeling elated. Inter-House unity was a reality, if not exactly a friendly reality. Instead, she was wide awake, in pain, and feeling vaguely sure that somewhere the other shoe was going to drop.

* * *

Perched in his bed, Ron watched Harry pace in the open space of the dormitory he shared with Neville, Dean and Seamus. Harry had been pacing and complaining since the boys had turned in for the evening. Neville and Dean had both given Ron apologetic smiles, while Seamus had given him a long-suffering roll of his eyes before the three of them had promptly hid themselves behind the closed curtains of their respective beds, leaving Harry and his complaints to Ron.

Ron was wishing he could hide behind the closed curtains of his own bed. Maybe with a small silencing spell added for good measure.

Harry took a turn and paced towards the door. "Hufflepuffs? What do Hufflepuffs know about what it means to have unity?" Six steps later, he spun jerkily on his heel and headed back towards the window. "And Goldstein? Where does he get off telling _me_ who the enemy is?"

Arriving at the window, he turned and then headed back towards the door. "I know who the enemy is. I've met the God-damned enemy." Turn and pace and the pattern was repeated.

Ron was tired of this. Hermione was already past tired if her heated, and somewhat shrill, confrontation earlier at the DA meeting had been any indication. After the Aurors shown up at the school, Ron had been holding out such hope that Harry was finally returning to the Harry Potter of old that he remembered. It didn't seem like that was happening

"Can you believe Hermione? Bringing a Slytherin to a DA meeting? What was she thinking?"

And just like that, Ron decided he'd had enough. "You want to know what she was thinking?" Heedless of his two sleeping roommates, Ron flung off the covers and stormed across the room to where Harry was standing. "She was thinking that you've become a complete prat."

"I've . . . I've become -" Harry sputtered indignantly.

Ron cut him off. "No, you're right. Not a complete prat. You've become a bloody _royal_ prat. Did you think we didn't know?"

Harry's face paled. "Know what?" he demanded.

"We're your friends, you git! We know about the book. We know what you've been doing. We know about the bloody Dark Arts and we know that whatever you're doing with that book is turning you into a complete pain in the arse."

Colour flooded back into Harry's face. "You don't know anything."

"I don't? I don't? Who do you think has been covering for you? Who do you think has been making the apologies behind your back when you bite someone's head off? Who do you think has been running interference for you?"

"I don't need to have any interference run for me. I'm in control of it."

Ron laughed. "Yeah? Control. That explains why you tried to beat up a firstie tonight."

Harry roared, "She's a Slytherin."

"She's not your enemy," Ron yelled back. "Voldemort is. And bloody hell, I _hate_ saying his name."

"Don't you think I know that? I'm doing everything I can think of to fight him. And when it comes time to kill the bastard, I'll do that too."

"With Avada Kadavra?"

"Yes!"

Ron took a step back and folded his arms across his chest. "Tell me again what the prophecy says," he demanded.

"Ron . . . "

"Tell me!"

Harry glared at him for a long moment. Then he started reciting the prophecy, the words spit out as if the very taste of them was vile on his tongue. "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches . . . Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies . . . And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not. . . "

"Stop."

"Don't tell me. Tell me," Harry snarled. "I thought you said you wanted to hear it."

"No, I wanted _you_ to hear it. And it's obvious that you've missed the point again. _But he will have power the Dark Lord knows not_. Let's say that part again, shall we? Power the Dark Lord knows not." Ron stopped and waited on Harry expectantly, but when Harry just stood there glaring at him, Ron threw up his hands in defeat. "How in the bloody hell do you think the Killing Curse is using a power he knows not? I'm just making a guess here, but I think he's pretty familiar with that one."

Harry's eyes were hard chips of green glass and the lightening bolt scar stood out red and angry on his forehead as he growled out through gritted teeth, "You don't know anything."

"Yeah, well, at this point, I'd say I know more than you do. I know better than to play with the Dark Arts."

Harry's wand was suddenly in his hand. Ron, wandless and wearing only his pajamas, glared back at him, not backing down, until Harry spun on his heels and headed for the door, body stiff with anger.

"That's right. Run off and sulk. Again!" he yelled at Harry's retreating back.

A slamming door was Ron's only answer.

Tilting back his head, Ron howled his frustration to the shadowed ceiling of the bedchamber.

A soft cough behind him had Ron spinning, reaching for a wand that he wasn't wearing. Three very concerned and somewhat frightened looking roommates were staring back him, framed by their individual bed curtains. Giving them a sheepish smile, he said, "I don't suppose you'd believe -"

"No," Dean interrupted, "don't think I would, mate."

Scrubbing a hand up through his hair, he wondered what he was supposed to do now.

"Ron?"

"Yeah, Neville?"

"Was that a real prophecy?"

With a sigh, Ron wearily returned to his own bed and climbed back in. "It was a real prophecy."

Neville was silent as he contemplated the new information. "I was born in July," he said slowly. "M-My parents defied You-Know-who three times. The last time was when they were . . . were . . ."

"I know Neville," Ron said, so Neville wouldn't have to say it.

"It could have been me." What little colour remained in Neville's face drained away. "Why wasn't it me? Are you sure it's not me?"

Ron flopped backwards onto his pillow, blowing out an exasperated breath. "It's not you, Neville. It's Harry. As for why it wasn't you picked . . . we'll, I don't know for sure, so I'll tell you what Hermione told me when I asked her. She said that You-Know-Who's a great arrogant berk and he picked Harry because Harry's a half-blood like him."

Seamus, who up until this point had only been listening with wide-eyed fascination, finally spoke up. "You-Know-Who's not a half-blood."

"He's a half-blood whose father was Muggle." Ron put a hand over his eyes and wondered how he'd ever got into this conversation.

* * *

Harry stormed down the stairs from his dormitory room to the common room. _How dare Ron question him? How dare Ron even chastise him as if he was some stupid little kid? I've faced and fought Voldemort four times_.

What did Ron know about it anyway? He wasn't the one everyone was counting on. He didn't go to sleep at night and wake from dreams of Death Eaters torturing and murdering everyone he cared for.

Everything he'd done. _Everything_ was for them. Ungrateful bastard.

Harry flung himself onto the couch in front of the fireplace, hand still gripped hard around his wand.

"It has to be the Killing Curse", he said to the empty room. "It has to be."

* * *

Two days after the Battle of Agnes, as Hermione privately referred to it, Harry was shut up tighter than a clam and wasn't speaking to either her or Ron. Ron had refused to explain, only saying that he'd told Harry something he didn't want to hear. But glaring looks and the silent treatment aside, Harry had not protested when Agnes had showed up for the next scheduled session.

Of course, Hermione was fairly sure the younger girl was only a side annoyance. Harry's main focus for his glares was Ron, which made Hermione extremely curious as to what Ron had said. For her part, Hermione was just ignoring him and concentrating instead on the Charms books that had been passed to her. She wasn't stupid and knew that she was supposed to be finding something important in the books. She was now fairly sure that she knew what that was.

Linking charms, she'd discovered, were a much used, but vastly underrated aspect of magic in the wizarding world. It was linking charms that connected things together in the wizarding world like the wizarding wireless, the Floo Network, and even allowed magical portraits to move from one painting to another. It was turning out to be fascinating reading and she'd come up with at least four ways to circumvent the Ministry tracking charms placed on their wands without, she was hoping, alerting the Ministry to her tampering. The only thing left to do was get the boys to help her test her theory. She was hoping that the thought of doing mischief against the Aurors would pull Ron and Harry back together.

Ignoring her half-eaten lunch, she continued making additional notes on how to refine the spell she was crafting.

"Mr Potter, Miss Granger, Mr and Miss Weasley, please come with me."

Hermione looked up, surprised to find Professor McGonagall standing stiffly next to the Gryffindor table. A quick glance at both Ron and Harry confirmed that both of them were just as surprised by the request as she was. Ginny gave a quick shrug of her shoulders to show she had no idea of what the summons meant.

"Okay, Professor," Ron said.

Quickly gathering up her things, Hermione followed the others, noting that Professor Sprout was also speaking to Susan Bones. She was surprised when they went out of the Great Hall and headed for the gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster's suite. She wanted to ask the professor what this was about, but was put off by the expression on McGonagall's face. Something was very wrong.

"Blood-flavored Lollies," McGonagall said. As the stairway opened, Ron went to step inside but McGonagall held him back until Professor Sprout and a confused looking Susan Bones joined them. Once they were all together, they were ushered inside and up the revolving stair.

* * *

Hermione wasn't sure why she was there. If anyone had asked, she doubted she could have even explained how she'd got there. She'd been paying no attention to her whereabouts, simply stumbling along letting the castle and her feet take her wherever as her thoughts and emotions swirled in ever tightening circles.

She'd fled from Gryffindor Tower and the oppressive feelings of helpless rage emanating from Ron and Harry. She should have stayed, she knew that. Harry was as bad as she'd ever seen him and Ron had been helpless, caught up in his own emotions. Ginny hadn't stopped crying since they'd heard the news. But she needed to get away. She needed to deal with her own anger and grief. So she'd fled, not even heeding Ron's call as she bolted for the Tower door.

Not being sure how she got here, she nevertheless wasn't completely surprised to find herself outside the door to Snape's office.

When the door opened, he didn't say a word, only gestured her inside. There she stood in the middle of the room, arms wrapped tightly around herself while she stared at the grey slate flagstones that made up the floor. Now that she was here, she was unsure of what she was supposed to do next. _What does one do in this situation?_

"I don't know." The words, so soft they were the barest whisper, slipped out before she could bite them back.

Snape had moved so that he was in front of her, leaning back against the edge of his desk. "You don't know . . . what, Miss Granger?"

She looked up, blinking against the tears that wanted to flow. She knew how Snape felt about tears and she didn't want to cry in front of this man. "I don't know what to do."

He sighed then, a pained expression crossing his face before his usual expressionless mask settled into place. "Sit down before you fall down." The words were harsh, but the hand that took hold of her elbow and led her to chair was warm and steadying. "You've been told."

"Dumbledore called us all into his office. He wanted . . . wanted to tell us before it was announced in _The Prophet_ tomorrow."

"Potter and Mr and Miss Weasley?"

"Harry is –" she shook her head, not sure how to explain Harry. "Ron and Ginny are terrified and angry . . . and . . . did you know?"

"No." He sighed again. "I am as much the Dark Lord's spy as I am Dumbledore's. It would have been the greatest of follies to entrust me with that kind of information."

She gave a jerky nod of her head in understanding. "Dumbledore didn't . . . wouldn't give d-details. You said . . . you said, you'll tell me the truth."

"Are you sure you want that truth? Will knowing the circumstances help?"

"Yes," she said, then shook her head. "No. I don't know. I just . . . I need to know."

He looked at her for a long moment before he began to speak. "Our sources within the Ministry said that the Aurors took Arthur Weasley this morning at the Ministry. Molly was at the Burrow when they took her. Neither put up a fight, or even realised what was happening until too late. They have been arrested and charged with treason and collaborating with the Dark Lord. They've both been sent to Azkaban pending their trial."

The words hit Hermione like a blow to the chest, forcing the air from her lungs. Snape's words were stark and uncompromising, so unlike the soft-edged words filled with meaningless assurances that Dumbledore had given them earlier. She drew in a deep shuddering breath as tears filled her eyes. "And . . ." she choked out.

Snape hesitated again and Hermione fought hard to control herself and look him in the eye. Whatever he saw in her expression must have convinced him, because he finally said, "Lupin _was not_ as surprised. When the Aurors came for him, he fought back. Being a known werewolf, they were taking no chances and employed . . . harsher tactics."

"They killed him."

"Yes."

Again, a jerky nod of her head. "The o-others?"

Snape grimaced, his expression twisting into a scowl. She had the feeling he didn't want to be telling her this any more than she wanted to be listening to it. "Charlie Weasley is safe in Romania, but with the borders closed and the Aurors on the lookout for him, he won't be able to get back into Britain, at least not by the usual methods. Bill Weasley was in the Gringotts' vaults when they came for him. The Aurors were unable to find him and the Goblins were being less than helpful. The vaults below Gringotts are vast and mazelike. If Weasley doesn't want to be found, he will not be. And, as the Goblins have never been great supporters of the Ministry, they are unlikely to help in his capture.

"That's good for him," she said softly, reaching for whatever hope was available.

Snape just shook his head. "The Aurors will be watching. If he surfaces, he will be taken. He is as effectively trapped as if he were in Azkaban as well."

"What about the twins? Professor Dumbledore said he didn't know about them."

"The Weasley twins were tipped off before the raid, although we do not know by whom. When the Aurors arrived at their workplace, the shop had been ransacked and the place was empty. No one currently knows their whereabouts."

Hermione wrapped her arms around herself, fists clenched to keep them from trembling. "Thank you. For telling me. For -" the word dropped off in a sob and the tears she'd been trying so hard to control spilled down her cheeks. Climbing unsteadily to her feet, Hermione turned blindly in the direction of the door, hoping to get out before she lost control completely.

She got two steps before colliding with Snape who had moved into her path. Reflexively her hands fisted in the fabric of his robes, and when she wasn't pushed immediately away, she held on all the tighter and let the tears flow.

* * *

**Author's Note . . . I mean whinge 2:** I'm getting better at conversations but I still don't like writing them. The Voldemort conversation was probably re-written at least six times. I hope you guys appreciate how much I suffer for you. {Please visualize Victorian-esque author with hand raised to fevered brow and wearing abject look of dismay} :-)


	37. Ch 35: Ripples

**Author's Note 1: **Thank you to everyone for hanging in there and sending the "poke" and "Are you okay?" emails. This chapter really kicked my ass. Also, I realise that the last chapter was a little shocking. Alas, I can only say that the evilness continues and it will get worse before it gets better.

One of the chapters of the story that resonated with readers the most was the one in which Hermione created the Sleeping Sheets for Snape. Keladry has now taken the idea of the magic sigil from that chapter and created artwork for it. Please go and check it out. I think it is stunning and very true to the vision I had in my head when I wrote the chapter. Art here: http : // Keladry – lupin . deviantart . com / art / All – Through – the – Night – 116678416# (Don't forget to remove the spaces.)

Many thanks to whitehound and Keladry for their beta reading efforts.

And as usual, I have no patience and I'm posting this with only one beta's response (second beta to be added as soon as she's done.) So, here's me saying I can't wait 24 hours to hear back from my betas before posting. I have no idea how you guys wait between chapters without sending me death threats. -C

* * *

**Chapter 35: Ripples**

Hermione wasn't sure how long she cried, but eventually the ball of pain in her chest eased. It was still there, but muted now to a dull throb. She was also aware that she was still leaning heavily into Snape, her hands curled against the flat planes of his chest, while his strength supported both of them. Her thoughts drifted, buoyed by the safety and comfort she felt. And even though it came as a guilty pleasure, she didn't stop herself from burying her face in his shoulder to breathe in the comforting mix of herbs, smoke and _Severus_. A small, bitter-sweet smile curved her lips. Somewhere along the way he'd become _Severus_ in her head and she doubted she'd ever get to say his name out loud.

Gradually though, she became aware that the man she was so comfortably wrapped around was, himself, anything but relaxed. It wasn't that he was standing rigidly, but he was unnaturally still. Even the chest she leaned against barely moved with each of his breaths. The hands that lightly cupped her shoulders neither pushed her away, nor enfolded her closer. If it had been anyone else, Hermione would have said there was no comfort offered here, and yet Hermione still felt that blanket of security wrapped around her as she leaned into him. She also knew she was being entirely unfair to him, inflicting her crush on him when he was so obviously ill-at-ease.

Tightening her hands one last time in the soft wool of his robes she let go, stepping back and away from him. She kept her face averted, knowing she was no delicate damsel with a pretty, tear-stained face. She knew she looked a complete mess with wayward strands of hair stuck to her wet face.

Together they stood in tense silence before Hermione heard him make a soft sound that was almost a sigh. A large hand gripped her elbow and led her back to the chair. When he withdrew she couldn't help but miss the warmth of his hand, even as she berated herself for being three kinds of fool.

A pristine white handkerchief was thrust before her. "Here," he said, brusquely, "compose yourself."

She bit her lip to hold in the smile at the dichotomy between his words and action and Hermione felt herself slide a little further down the slippery slope that was her attraction to Snape . . . to Severus.

"Sorry," she murmured as she blotted her face, knowing all the while there was no help for her puffy eyes and splotched complexion. Gathering her courage, she finally raised her head and gave him a watery smile. "Thank you. I didn't mean to . . . " She trailed off and gestured vaguely in his direction, not wanting to actually say the words 'blubber all over you.' "Thank you," she repeated.

He gave her back a small wry smile of his own. "You are not the first to cry on my shoulder, Miss Granger."

_Back to Miss Granger, _shethought, with a small pang of disappointment_. He had been uncomfortable with the contact._ The disappointment grew as he went about reestablishing the boundaries between them, though she couldn't fault him on it. _Inappropriate_, a part of her whispered, and Hermione couldn't disagree even when she wished she could.

Restlessly folding and smoothing the edges of the linen handkerchief, Hermione watched quietly as Snape pulled another chair around. Sitting so that there was an acceptable distance between them, he caught her eyes. "Listen to me Miss Granger. I know that you are hurting, but I need you to focus. The Headmaster warned you and the others for a reason. Tomorrow's _Prophet_ will be a masterwork of Ministry propaganda, designed by the Dark Lord himself, to feed into the fears of the wizarding populace."

"How can they all just accept it? Why doesn't anyone question what they're being told? How can the people at the Ministry just go along with everything that a virtual stranger who has just appeared at the Ministry is telling them?"

"I suppose it wouldn't make much sense to you, or probably much sense to any Muggle-born. When Muggle-borns and their parents are first introduced to our world, two words typically come to up to describe us."

"Victorian," she guessed, having heard her father use this description on numerous occasions.

Snape gave her a small nod. "Quaint," he said with small sneer, "would be the other word. As you yourself have noted, we do not accept change as a society easily. We cling, rather tenaciously, to our pasts and our traditions. Unlike the Muggle world, we have more or less a single source of news. Only _The Quibbler_ maintains any true independence and it is largely ignored. Family names, dynasties if you will, are known and recognised by almost everyone. As a society we rarely question those in authority. You wish to know how this could happen? That is how. Our world is terrified and they are looking for a savior who will protect them without any effort on their parts. The less they have to get involved, the more they will follow along with any Ministry plans."

"And the Ministry is going to provide scapegoats."

"Then you understand."

She frowned. "But the Aurors?"

He sat back in his chair and gave her the look that intimated she'd just said something stupid. "Aurors are trained to follow orders, not to question them. Nor do we know who has been Imperiused or who among them is an actual supporter. Add in the fact that those who are true wish to take action, to do something productive and-"

"They'll leap at any course of action shown them without looking very carefully."

"Precisely. Which is why you must be prepared. Tomorrow is going to be worse than any day you've faced. Tomorrow, your classmates will turn on the Weasleys and any other students whose families have been targets, and on you for being friends with them."

She shook her head, not accepting his words.

"They will," he insisted, with such certainty that she couldn't help but believe. "The Weasleys have never maintained the status, influence, or wealth of the Malfoys or the Blacks, but their family name is just as well known and in its own way, powerful. To have them branded as traitors -"

She sucked in a hard breath at the word.

The hard eyes holding hers softened. "Get used to the word. They will be called traitors and worse. Many will turn their back on you, especially those of your own House."

She wanted to deny that, but couldn't. She knew how quick to judge those of her House could be. She only had to remember the times in the past that her Housemates had flipped between shunning and welcoming Harry.

She clenched her fingers tight around the handkerchief in her hand. "What do I need to do?"

"I wish I could tell you to focus Potter on his rage. What I need you to do is remind him of his compassion. The _Prophet_ has recorded Potter speaking out against the Dark Lord too many times for him to be labeled a sympathizer now. Use that with the other students who are going to be affected. This will affect more than the Weasleys and Miss Bones before it is over. Pull those students together and put Potter at their head. Surround him with those who will need a comforting hand and not reckless charges into danger."

He paused then and grimaced. "And stop looking at me like that. I've told you before that I don't hate Potter. And I most certainly do not wish him to fail at this endeavor."

She gave him a small smile, feeling a glimmer of hope for them all.

* * *

Severus walked Granger out to the main hall, his stride shortened and his steps moderated to accommodate her slower pace. His impatience pounded at him, but none of his internal need _to move_ expressed itself in his demeanor.

They walked in silence, for which he was eternally grateful. He simply didn't know the words to offer her solace. He knew his strengths, and giving comfort had never been one of them. For all that he'd given her a shoulder to cry on, he couldn't image that she'd drawn much consolation from him, especially when the minute her tears had dried he'd simply given her more dire news and an almost impossible task.

"Will someone check on Tonks?"

The question brought him back to himself with a start.

"She'll want to bury him." Granger did not elaborate on who _he_ was.

Severus shut his eyes momentarily at her soft-voiced comment and the new wound he knew he was about to inflict on her. "I will ensure that the Headmaster sends someone, but she will not . . . the Aurors took Lupin's body." At his words, her step faltered momentarily but she kept walking.

His esteem of her rose yet again. But for that small lapse and the tiny tremor in her voice, she remained composed. "T-they will be watching for anyone who cares enough . . . cares enough to come for him."

"Yes," he said, dropping his voice to the barest of murmurs.

"It's not fair," she said, her voice thick with unshed tears.

Severus had no answer for her. His life had rarely been about "fair" and he'd given up on that and Fair's bright sister, Hope, long ago.

So they continued on in silence until once again she crashed against his inner defences and with a few seemingly casual words sent him reeling.

"You'll be careful, won't you?"

When he was slow to offer a response, she added, "_He'll_ want to celebrate this victory. You haven't been called-" She stumbled over her words. "I mean, I haven't seen you leave the castle. But he will . . . just . . . please be careful."

Then Hermione Granger blushed, pink flushing her cheeks. He waited for her to drop her eyes, stammer forth some apology. She did neither, merely held his eyes in steady seriousness until he became the one to stammer out a response. "I . . . I will endeavor to be careful." His heart pounded within him for reasons he refused to acknowledge. "Your concern is noted and I-" And then in the space of a heartbeat, he snarled, "Ten points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger."

The sudden swerve caught her off-guard, her shock forcing out a startled, "What?"

Snape scowled, his expression thunderous. "Another five points for insolence." She flinched in surprise, completely unprepared to handle such vitriol from him on the heels of her concern. "Prefect status does not, I assure you, entitle you to wander areas of the castle that are off limits."

Hermione just blinked at him in total confusion, the pretty blush deepening into the darker red of mortification as Severus turned sharply, addressing a deep shadow in one of the alcoves that lined this section of the hallway. "Auror Garmin. I have been summoned to the Headmaster. Would be you be so kind as to escort Miss Granger to Gryffindor Tower?"

Hermione spun herself to face the alcove as Auror Garmin stepped into the light. The Auror was wearing a faint sneer, although Severus couldn't decide if his distaste was for his presence or Hermione's. Severus stepped back into shadow as the Auror turned his attention to Hermione. By the time the buffoon thought to keep an eye on him as well, Severus had already melted into the shadows as if he'd never been there.

Not trusting the Auror, Severus shadowed their progress partway to Gryffindor until he was sure that Hermione would be taken safely back to her tower.

Sweet Merlin, the girl confused him. She pushed and asked and demanded with her very presence that he . . . he . . . be her. . . her . . . and here his thoughts skittered away. He closed his eyes and leaned back into the cool stone of the castle. The way she'd asked him to be careful. The way she'd _looked_ at him. Merlin help him, he wanted . . . _Impossible_. He pushed violently away from the wall. Insanity. It was complete insanity. _Albus. I need to talk to Albus_.

* * *

Hermione walked stiffly back to Gryffindor Tower, the Auror a chilling presence at her back. Opening the portrait door, she gave one last thought to Snape, _Severus_, and the sense of safety she'd felt when leaning against him. Then she was stepping through and thoughts of safety were left behind.

The common room was mostly empty at this hour, only a few students were gathered around the fireplace and two third years were off in one corner studying. Her friends were much as she'd left them when she'd fled earlier. They had taken over a small couch and two chairs in a nook created by the round walls of the tower and the stairs that led up to the boys' dormitory. It was a quiet spot, out of the way from the general traffic of the common room, and was often sought out by the more studious members of Gryffindor.

Harry sat at one end of the small couch with Ginny curled up into his side, one of his arms slung protectively over her. She couldn't help but feel a bit of relief at the sight. Ginny needed Harry's comfort right now and Harry needed to be touched and needed. Ron sat at Ginny's feet with one hand wrapped around one of her ankles. Hermione was glad to see that this crisis had pulled Harry out of whatever snit he'd been in with Ron and that the two of them were once again presenting a united front. Hermione was also heartened to see that Neville, Dean and Seamus had joined the group since she'd left. _Good_, she thought. _That makes doing what Severus asked of me easier_. _And maybe not all of our friends will be turning against us._

"Where've you been?"

She ignored the accusation in Harry's tone, knowing he was hurting and lashing out. Instead she simply took the words at face value. "I needed to . . . " She trailed off. She didn't want to say that she needed space or that she'd desperately needed to see Snape.

Ginny came to her rescue. "It's okay, Hermione. Everyone copes differently."

Hermione sent her a grateful smile. "Thanks Ginny. I just needed a little quiet and someplace to think."

"I don't think your books are going to help us this time."

She took a deep breath, letting her own anger go. "I think you're wrong, Harry. Hold on, I'll be right back." Heading up to her room, she grabbed Professor Flitwick's books and her notes and then returned to the group.

"What are you planning?" Ron asked, when she settled back down.

She held up one of the books. "It's all about linking charms."

"So?" asked Dean.

Hermione took another deep breath, knowing the conversation that she was about to have was going to hurt. "The Weasleys weren't the only people targeted by You-Know-Who." She glanced around the small group, noting Ron's pinched expression and Ginny's eyes filling again with tears. "We know Susan Bones' mother was taken. We know about Professor Lupin. There are going to be others."

She leaned forward trying to make them really _hear_ her. "But that's just part of the attack. They are also targeting half-bloods and Muggle-borns with the wand registration nonsense. They'll know every spell we cast and I'm pretty sure it will tell them everywhere we go. The wizarding world doesn't do well standing up to the Ministry. The people who would are the half-bloods and the Muggle-borns, those people who've seen other systems of government and different ways of doing things. It will be harder for them now because of the registration."

"Divide and conquer," Ron said, "and attack along multiple fronts."

She nodded and gave Ron a smile at his more concise explanation.

"So how do linking charms help?"

Hermione pulled her wand out and asked Neville for his. She held the wands side by side. "By casting a linking charm on my wand that connects it to your wand. Although ideally we cast the link to someone who is above reproach and not involved with anything we are doing. The Ministry gets their information as it is fed through the new link, bypassing the original tracking charm. It lets us, Harry in particular, stay out of their sights."

Ginny sat up a little straighter. "You link to my wand. I stay in the dorm and cast a few harmless spells. The Ministry reads that you while in reality you are off doing something somewhere else."

Hermione gave her a smile. "Exactly. And if the Ministry and Voldemort are using it to keep tabs on Harry and anyone else, then we send them on wild goose chases."

"You can cast this spell?" Dean asked.

"Yes, but I don't want to be the one to cast it. Harry needs to."

Harry gave a jerk. "What? Why?"

"Because others are going to be affected. You've always been a rallying point about You-Know-Who. Tell the students that are affected about the spell and cast it for them. As more families of students are taken, be there for them. Have them turn to you."

Harry's expression was a mixture of unease and rebellion. "I don't want to be their savior or some kind of stupid chosen one."

Neville, who was staring intently at Harry, finally said, "I don't think you've got a choice."

* * *

Albus felt the castle's wards jump the minute Severus ordered the guardian gargoyle aside. He wasn't quite sure how he always knew when Severus interacted with the school's wards but he did, even if most of the other teachers and students were just the vague impression of _someone_ being there. He had always marveled at how well those wards recognised the other man, even occasionally letting him know the emotional state of his Potions master. It was, he'd concluded after long contemplation, as if the castle _liked_ Severus, an idea and occurrence that never failed to amuse Albus.

Tonight there was no amusement. The castle wards tied to his magic snapped and sizzled along Albus' senses. Severus was agitated and that agitation was being conveyed quite strongly. He conjured a small teapot and two cups and waited.

Severus entered quickly, the door abruptly thrust open. Severus' teaching robes swirled around him as he fell into pacing in front of Albus' long desk. But for that pacing and the wards' insistence, Albus would not have known that Severus was troubled. The man's expression was a smooth mask of indifference, his posture was erect, neither hunched nor belligerent, and his hands, the usual tell-tale markers of Severus' mood, were clasped tightly behind his back rather than furled into fists at his side.

"Severus, is everything-"

"Everything is as expected, Headmaster."

The words were curt, but no more or less than what Albus usually expected from the other man. The wards once again rolled across his nerves, causing him to stiffen in his chair. Giving a thought to pushy castles, he asked, "Expected?"

"Expected. The Dark Lord has his hands firmly around the throat of the wizarding world, the Order – what remains of it – is practically in hiding, our fate rests on the shoulders of an unstable boy, and Lupin is . . . dead."

Albus noted the almost imperceptible hesitation before Severus pronounced Lupin's demise. Unsure of Severus' mood, he started cautiously, "Remus was -"

"I never thought that I would outlive the wolf."

It was said dispassionately, as another would comment on the fact that it was raining. With those words, the jangling at his magical senses fell silent, leaving him reeling in the quiet. Without the added benefit of the castle's magic, Albus was left with the impenetrable wall of Severus' emotional defences.

"Lupin was . . . ." Severus halted his thought, and then added, "Now only Pettigrew is left. And me, of course. Odd that."

Severus made another circuit around the room as Albus watched him warily, unsure of this unusual turn in the man he knew. "Severus-"

"You'll need to send someone for him. Someone of unassailable character."

Albus frowned in confusion. "For Peter?"

Severus shook his head sharply. "Lupin."

And for just for an instant, Albus knew what every Potions student had ever felt when on the receiving end of Severus' "you're an idiot" tone of voice. But he did finally understand, although he was very surprised at Severus' concern. It seemed unlike the man. "I will ensure that Remus' remains are returned from the Ministry."

Severus nodded. "Granger said that Tonks would be appreciative."

Albus clamped down on his surprise. _Granger?_ Remembering Vector's matrix, Albus' alarm grew and with it his need to retake control of his pacing spymaster. Albus indicated one of the chairs in front of his desk. "Severus, sit. You're making me dizzy."

Only when the other man was situated in his usual chair did Albus float Severus a cup of tea. He was concerned as Severus sat rigidly instead of sinking into his normal boneless slump. Something was very much wrong.

They sat quietly, each sipping from their cups, until the taunt line of Severus' shoulders eased just a fraction. Only then did he say the man's name, for he'd learned over the years that the best way to get the man to open up was to let him come to you. "Severus?"

The shoulders softened a fraction more. "I find myself . . . troubled."

Albus felt a bolt of fear go through him at Severus' words. _All my plans . . . ._

Severus kept speaking, unaware of his effect on the headmaster. "I have known the course of my life from the moment she died." There was a distant quality to voice as he continued. "In many ways I died as well. I have not wanted anything beyond retribution and repentance since." He stared down into the bowl of his cup as if he saw his future laid out in the tea leaves. "I have not asked for . . . ." He stopped and shook his head. "I have not wanted . . . ." His voiced trailed off into silence.

"What is it that you want, Severus?" Albus asked softly, his own fingers tight around the handle of his cup.

Severus finally looked up and stared at him for a long measured moment, though Albus wasn't sure the man really saw him or not. He opened his mouth to speak and stiffened abruptly in his chair. Albus knew that reaction all too well. _Damn Tom and his sense of timing_. "You are being summoned?" he asked.

The easily read confusion that had briefly reflected in Severus' eyes was gone, to be replaced with nothing but mirrored black. "I am." Standing abruptly, he placed his tea cup on Albus' desk with careful precision. "Forgive me, Albus. I find that there are things I must attend to." He paused for a moment as if waiting for some added word from Albus, but then with a single nod of his head, turned to leave.

Albus stared at the closed door, undecided on his course of action. He was not as ruthlessly Machiavellian as some portrayed him, but neither was he the kindly doting grandfather of others' tales. Severus Snape had given everything he was to this fight. Albus knew that if asked, Severus would give even more.

He had no illusions. He knew Severus expected to forfeit his life before it was over. It pained Albus to know that Severus was, in all reality, probably correct, and that Albus would be the one to order him to his death. But until tonight, Albus had never questioned that Severus would not hesitate to follow through with that final order, but something, or someone, had shaken Severus' control. Albus couldn't help but to see that as a threat.

Eyes narrowed in thought, he pulled his wand. A moment later Miranda's matrix floated like a multi-coloured sea anemone in the middle of his office, its lazy spin throwing rays of colour across the darkened room.

_Granger said that Tonks would be appreciative_.

Albus found the matrix lines representing Severus and Miss Granger. He watched as Severus' line blinked in and out of existence. Abruptly he turned toward the fireplace. Reaching for a handful of Floo powder he tossed it into the dancing flames. "Miranda Vector's room" he said as the flames turned green. Avoiding the discomfort of his creaky knees, he skipped kneeing into the flames and called out instead. "Miranda, are you there?"

A moment later, a somewhat confused reply came. "Albus?"

"Can you come up to my office?"

A few moments later, Professor Vector stepped into his office, her expression moving from tense to worried as she caught sight of her matrix spinning in the middle of the room. "Has something happened?" and then quickly amended it to "Has something _else_ happened?"

He gestured to the chair recently vacated by Severus. "Sit. Please. As for something happening, I am . . . unsure. How is Miss Granger's project coming along?"

One eyebrow shot up. "You didn't ask me here at," she glanced at the many clocks filling his office, "at eleven at night to ask about Hermione Granger's schoolwork."

When Albus hesitated, she blew out an exasperated breath. "Damn it, Albus. I know you love your secrecy and your games, and Merlin knows how Minerva has stood you all these years without hexing you to the bottom of the lake, but I deal in facts and numbers. If you want an answer from me you have to ask me the real question and not try to sneak around it from the backside."

They stared at each other until Miranda threw up her hands in obvious disgust. Climbing to her feet, she headed back towards the fireplace, muttering dire imprecations only partially under her breath. Albus caught the words _Minerva_, _saint_ and _old goat_.

"Wait."

She stopped, as he knew she would, but she didn't turn around.

"Can Miss Granger be removed from the calculations?"

When Miranda finally did turn, her eyes were wide in shock.

"Calm yourself, Miranda. I mean the child no harm. I simply need to know if she can be removed from the field, as it were, without jeopardizing the matrix as a whole."

"No."

"But -"

"Albus, I assume you are asking for my professional opinion -- that opinion is no. She's too intertwined, too a part of this now."

"Intertwined," he repeated. _Yes, too intertwined I think_. He chose his words with great care. "The influence she is bringing to bear on Severus is . . . disconcerting."

To his surprise, Miranda burst into laughter. "Headmaster, you are a wise man who has the ability to see a bigger picture than anyone I've ever met. But Miss Granger's influence, as you call it, is just that the girl likes him. She treats him with respect and consideration and a kind regard. She isn't afraid of him and she doesn't want anything from him." She gave him a twisted smile before adding, "Forgive me for saying it Albus, but you know that you demand of Severus just as much, if not more, than You-Know-Who. Is it any surprise that Severus finds himself comfortable in Miss Granger's presence?"

Steepling his fingers, he contemplated her words. On the surface it seemed harmless enough. He'd always known that what he asked of Severus isolated the man, but before Miss Granger that had not seemed to bother Severus.

"I will consider your words. But indulge me, if you will, and see if she can be _unentwined_ from Severus without causing harm."

She shook her head. "Albus, this isn't a good idea."

When he merely looked at her in response, she sighed. "Fine."

Her expression was still disapproving when she left.

Alone in his office again, he waved a hand, extinguishing the candles until the only light remaining came from the matrix. He was an old man. He was used to waiting for things he wanted. Patience had provided him with more victories than the combined forces of threat and guile. Now he waited for Severus to return and thought hard on the girl.

* * *

Albus felt the shift in the wards as Severus reentered the castle grounds. Unlike earlier in the evening, he received no sense of dissonance from the castle, but was merely informed that the wards had been breached. That the castle's wards sent no ripples of alarm meant, Albus decided, that at least in this particular meeting with Tom, his spy had escaped unscathed.

Albus blew out a breath in aggravation, his thoughts turning dark. _Tom has every reason to be celebrating this night. The Order and its allies are neatly boxed into a corner and now is entirely too soon to be showing my hand._

As dawn was not far off, he waited the minimal time before deciding that Severus would not be coming to him. Not that he blamed the man for that. Even Severus needed some sleep. But Albus knew, as few others did, what toll these meetings with Tom took from his Potions master. Even those meetings that went well tended to darken Severus' mood for days afterwards. And only Albus knew of the nightmares that so often preceded Severus' restless insomnia.

He debated now. _Stay or go?_ He thought again on the troubling conversation they'd shared earlier and the matrix he'd been staring at for the last few hours. _Go, then._

It took only a few moments to step from his fireplace into Severus' rooms. He expected to find Severus still awake as he entered the man's quarters, so he was concerned when he found the rooms dark and quiet. He paused, suddenly unsure, but a brief outreach to the castle's internal wards confirmed that Severus was indeed in his rooms.

Wondering if perhaps Severus had been hurt after all, Albus lit a candle and went in search of him. His concern went to alarm when he found his notoriously insomnia prone Potions master asleep in his bed. Even more disconcerting was the fact that Severus did not wake on his entry, or when the candle's light fell across his face. He merely grumbled and turned away into the darkness.

Now Albus was more than alarmed. Several thoughts spun through his mind from Severus taking a heavy dose of Dreamless Sleep to Tom somehow drugging him. None of the scenarios he came up with as an explanation made him feel better.

He debated momentarily on the ethics of his decision, weighing Severus' privacy against his fears. _I can't take the chance_. Pulling his wand, he used a Healer's spell that detected potions and poisons. His wand tip glowed green as he swept it over Severus' body, showing Severus was not under the influence of any type of sleeping potion.

His next thought was some type of charm or hex. He cast a powerful reveal spell and again his wand glowed green as he waved it over Severus. Then, just as he swung his wand in a sweeping arc over Severus' head, the wand light blinked. He stopped. The light had not turned red, indicated a malicious spell, but had blinked. Albus wasn't sure he'd ever seen the reveal spell do that before. He stilled. Then very slowly he retraced his wand over Severus' head but the blink in the light didn't reoccur.

Frowning, he pulled at his beard with his free hand. Then using a side to side sweeping motion, he began again. This time, as his wand neared the edge of the bed, the light blinked again. _The spell is on the sheets_.

Unsure of exactly what he was dealing with, and still not wanting to awaken Severus just yet, as the spell could easily be designed to harm the sleeper if detected, Albus used the tip of his wand to tease out the bottom sheet from where it was tucked under the mattress.

His gasp was loud in the quiet of the room. _Sleeping Sheets! Someone made Severus Sleeping Sheets._

He was astounded. He'd never known of a case where Sleeping Sheets were made for an adult. He didn't even think that was possible. The magical energy and intent that would have been needed to fuel the Sheets for an adult rather than for a child was enormous.

_How? When? Why? And more importantly, was this the interference to Severus' path that was highlighted in Vector's matrix?_

Waving the hovering candle closer, he pulled up the Sheet's edge to more closely examine the embroidered sigil. A single glance told him that the stitching was finely done and that much care and attention had been taken with the work. Like most magical sigils this one moved. Albus was astonished to see a lioness rise up to crouch protectively over a coiled snake, her ivory-coloured fangs bared to him in a silent snarl of warning.

And Albus knew. _Hermione Granger._

He also knew what he had to do. He had no idea how the girl had made the sheets or even how she'd got them on Severus' bed. Those were minor concerns now. The most important thing was that she could not be allowed to interfere with his plans. Couldn't be allowed to distract Severus from his path, regardless of what Miranda Vector thought. He also knew that he could not be the direct cause of the severance of their relationship. That would build resentment and again take Severus' focus off the things that Albus needed him to do. Severus could _not_ doubt him at this critical junction in his plans.

Eyes narrowed in thought, he came to a grim decision. He knew Severus. Knew his moods and his prejudices and how the taint of Dark Magic influenced his tempers. He had only to set the stage. Severus would do the rest because Albus knew how he would view these sheets: as betrayal and manipulation and influence.

It was, he decided, the best course of action.

Turning to leave, he left the sheet and its damning sigil untucked for Severus to find in the morning. Severus himself would do everything needed after that.

* * *

The next morning Ginny, eyes still red, refused to stay behind in the tower when the others were ready to go down to breakfast.

Knowing what the morning held, Hermione couldn't blame Ron for trying to dissuade her but Ginny was standing firm. Ron finally gave in with ill-concealed grace. Hermione went out the portrait door first, Ron behind her, followed by Ginny, then Harry, with Seamus, Neville and Dean bringing up the end. Their Housemates, sensing their mood, gave them a wide berth in the corridors.

Sitting at the Gryffindor table became a waiting game that gnawed on all of them. At one point, Hermione looked up at the Head Table hoping to distract herself with Severus, but the thunderous black look he leveled in her direction left her shaken. She quickly dropped her eyes back to her food, picking at it in confusion.

Even Ron was picking at his food, but Hermione was too shaken by Severus' venomous look to really notice. The clatter of his fork onto his plate finally jerked Hermione's eyes upwards to where the morning owls were silently winging their way across the room.

Her own owl landed in the open space beside her, the _Prophet_ clenched tightly in one talon. With trembling fingers she paid the bird, offered a bit of bacon and then sent it on its way.

"Open it."

"Ron . . ."

Ron swallowed, his freckles standing out in stark contrast to the pallor of his skin. "Best to know now. Open it."

Harry gave her nod, so Hermione cleared a space on the table and spread out the paper so that all of them could see it. A series of photographs scrolled across the top half of the paper beneath a blazing inch high headline: MINISTRY ROUNDS UP YOU-KNOW-WHO SYMPATHIZERS. She didn't bother with the article but focused instead on the pictures. A woman Hermione didn't recognise was crying as a grey-haired man was lead away. A picture of Madam Bones flashed next, her expression a mixture of confusion and anger. Ginny sucked in a breath at a slightly blurry picture of Molly Weasley being led away. There was another picture of an older gentleman, his face too wearing an expression of confusion. On and on the pictures scrolled across the page.

Hermione realised then how they'd done it. None of these poor people really understood what was happening to them. They all just thought it was some kind of mistake – some kind of aberration that would be cleared up quickly.

"They didn't have a clue," Harry said roughly, his thoughts obviously following hers.

Ron's slightly shaking hand pointed to a tag line mentioning a special insert section. "Open this."

Hermione flipped the paper open, only to immediately press her fist against her mouth in horror. The special insert was a list of names in blocky, black text. Each name listed the supposed crime, a summary of the evidence against the person and a column showing the status of the individual. A quick scan of the list showed that Remus Lupin had not been the only individual to resist arrest and pay for it with his life.

"Oh God, there are so many."

* * *

**Author's Note 2**: Sorry again for making you guys wait for so long for this chapter. I know. I suck.


	38. Ch 36: Consequences

**Author's Note 1:** First off, I owe you guys an apology. It's been forever since I updated. Real life and complications got in the way. But, this is more an apology for disappearing on you. Many of you (and you guys know who you are) sent encouraging emails and pokes and 'are you okays?'. They were all appreciated. Unfortunately, I have a very, very bad habit of going silent running when I get stressed -- I don't read/answer emails, I stop answering the phone, I ignore people. But, I think the life stressors have been dealt with for now.

**Author's Note 2:** We have new artist drawings. Yeah!! I hope you guys will go over and support the fine artwork with comments. Don't forget to remove the spaces in the links.

http: // korinacaffeine. deviantart. com/ art/ bone-chill-121756610 (Korinacaffeine did a wonderful job detailing out that first time Hermione felt the 'chill' emanating from Snape.)  
and  
http:// untangomas. deviantart. com/ art/ Inappropriate-106399863 (Un tango mas has updated her drawing. It was wonderful before, it's kick-ass now).  
and  
http:// zeldah0ttie. deviantart. com/ art/ Pet-Project-120116410# (Handholding between Snape and Hermione. Guess this was the last bit of comfort before it all went to hell in a handbasket)

And last, but certainly not least, many thanks to Keladry and whitehound for the beta assist and sticking around. I mean really, if you were my beta would you stick around this long just so you can get hit with random chapters out of the blue without hearing from me for months on end?

Oh, yeah, the chapter is also a little on the melodramatic side. (shrug) What can you do?

* * *

**Chapter 36: Consequences**

As was happening all too often of late, the voices and laughter that usually filled the Great Hall during the breakfast hour quieted. It was easy to hear the muffled sobs of Glynnis Colbern over at the Hufflepuff table and the shell-shocked voice of someone in Ravenclaw saying over and over again, "I don't understand."

Then the muttering began, softly at first and picking up volume and speed like a cresting wave. Into that upsurge of noise, Professor Dumbledore stood up. He didn't make any call to attention, but gradually silence spread through the Hall. Hermione saw several of the Aurors stationed along the outer wall shift nervously. She watched Auror Garmin finger his wand before a sharp motion from Auror Dawlish made him drop his hand.

Dumbledore's complexion was ashen, almost the same colour as his long beard. "Dangerous times are upon us," he began. "Dangerous men walk among us." He paused, his gaze sweeping across the room. "Believe what you will. Do not believe everything you read or hear." With an unreadable expression on his face, Dumbledore gathered his robes around him and swept out of the hall.

Silence followed in his wake, then the uproar began, voices competing against each other to be heard.

"I don't understand," Ron said. "Why didn't he . . . he didn't really _say _anything."

Hermione tapped a knuckle against the spread-open paper. "Here. Aberforth Dumbledore's name is on the list."

"But why didn't-" Ron stopped and then lowered his voice and began again. "Why didn't he say anything when he told us about mum and dad and Remus?"

"He might not have known," Ginny said.

Ron's lips pulled back from his teeth in a silent snarl as he worked through the implications. "Bugger. Aberforth is a hostage to the Headmaster's good behavior. In fact, I bet a lot of people might have had family taken to ensure good behavior or to provide some kind of leverage."

Harry made a growling noise from where he sat next to Ron. "I really, really want Voldemort dead. Do you think the Headmaster will . . ." Harry trailed off, not wanting to say the actual words he was thinking.

Ron and Hermione studied each other before Ron shook his head. "Can't say for certain. But-" he hesitated, then plowed ahead with his thought, "Dumbledore has put a lot of time and effort into this fight, into defeating You-Know-Who. Probably more than anyone but old Snape. I don't think – even for his brother – that he can back away now."

"The Headmaster's just as ruthless and narrow-focused as Voldemort in his own way," Hermione said, then added hastily as Harry's face went white, "And I'm not saying that's bad. We need someone to be ruthless, it's just something to think about and remember."

Harry nodded after a tense moment. "Hermione, how many names are on that list?"

She did a quick count. "Twenty-two people were taken alive." She took a quick breath and then added, "Four others died when they were apprehended." She didn't say Remus Lupin's name, but knew that the others were thinking it along with her.

"Do you know how many were Order members?"

"Only the ones we saw regularly at the house. The Headmaster is the only one who knows the names of all the members and supporters."

"Damn."

"So what now?" Ron asked.

Grabbing hold of Harry's hand, Ginny stood up. "We do what we talked about. My parents and brothers aren't You-Know-Who supporters." With a toss of her head that raised her chin high, Ginny led Harry over to the Hufflepuff table.

Harry settled down next to Glynnis Colbern while Ginny sat down across from the distraught girl. Any surprise at two Gryffindors sitting down at the Hufflepuff table was overshadowed by the talk of the Voldemort supporters and the Ministry's response. Watching Harry and Ginny talk to Colbern, Hermione kept her ears open to the conversations around her. True to Professor Snape's predictions, the talk she could hear ranged from one end of the spectrum to the other. A lot of suspicion undercut the voices around her, as well as a lot of fear.

* * *

From the height advantage that the teacher's dais gave, Severus watched the ripples of shock move through the students collected in the Great Hall. It was almost like watching multiple pebbles being dropped into a clear pool. The first stone drops _plop_ as the _Prophet_ and its insinuations of support for Voldemort move across the room. _Plop_. The second ripple flowing out quickly on the heels of the first as students looked at their neighbors and classmates, wondering _Are you one?_ _Plop._The third, a larger stone, its waves of reaction generating mini ripples as Dumbledore's words and subsequent abrupt departure were matched up with Aberforth's name being found in the Ministry's list.

He tried to watch the ripples, tried to see which students responded to the news with horror and anger and which ones cast guilty eyes at their classmates. Albus would be interested in his report on how the students reacted. He tried, tried to do what needed to be done but his concentration and control was grayed and he found that time and again his gaze was drawn back to the Gryffindor table.

To her.

Each time his eyes found her, he felt the rising anger course through him, shading his vision into blacks and reds. _Plop_. He struggled and fought to calm his own roiling emotions beneath the still surface of his control but like the students that he gazed down upon, the ripples moved through him, uncontrolled and unchecked.

_Plop_.

How dare she! She thought to make a fool of him?

_Plop_.

She would rue the day she'd crossed his path.

_Plop_.

Teeth grinding, he swallowed the deep-noted howl of rage that wanted to burst forth from his throat. Reaching for his cup, he wrapped his fingers around the cool metal, squeezing until his knuckles turned white with the force exerted. _I will not be ruled._ The very contradictory nature of the thought brought him a measure of control. He was always ruled – ruled by Dumbledore, ruled by the Dark Lord, ruled by the very out-of-control emotions that he sought so desperately to control. Usually controlled. He'd had moments over the years where he'd slipped. When the tenuous control, frayed by years of Dark Magic use, broke and he lost sight of everything except his own desires and wants. That cur Sirius Black had had the ability to bring him to this state. The Potters, old and young, could as well.

He'd not been expecting Hermione Granger to wield such control over him.

His gaze swept the room again, automatically noting the Aurors' positions, before coming once again to rest on the Gryffindor table.

He'd awakened that morning in a tangle of sheets, something that hadn't happened in a very long while. There had been a time when waking in sweat-soaked, twisted sheets had almost been the norm for him. But as he couldn't remember any nightmare and felt perfectly rested, he'd shrugged off the occurrence and gone about his morning routine. It was only when he'd thought to straighten the bed linens that he'd found the sigil.

His eyes found her slender form. She and her friends hovered over the opened _Prophet_, their heads bent together in shared companionship.

Severus' first thought on finding the sigil had been a sort of confusion, disbelief warring with a sort of bemusement at the idea of a grown man with what were obviously sleeping sheets for a baby. On seeing the lioness, his second thought had been of Albus and Minerva. It wasn't until he'd spread his palm across the stitched pattern and felt the magic signature embedded in with the threads that he'd realised just how wrong he was. Bemusement had fled to be replaced by a sense of betrayal he'd not felt since Lily Potter. The rage had come swiftly on the heels of that betrayal, its depth and breath surprising even him. Infuriated, he'd reached for the sheets, snatching them from the bed and feeling a surge of satisfaction as the silky fabric had ripped.

But that had only been the beginning. He'd seen it then. All the little things that had followed, small steps to gain his notice, gain his confidence, worm her way close to him. She'd taken his lessons well, he'd give her that. Subverting his house-elf had been a brilliant tactic and worthy of any Slytherin.

Now, there were only questions: Why him? Why now? And what had she to gain?

He thought that maybe he knew the answer to all of them. Potter. It was always, always, about Potter and Hermione Granger would do whatever it took to save Potter. If she'd had Severus convinced . . . if she'd asked . . . what would he have done if she'd asked or even pleaded for Potter's life?

He felt laughter, cold and unforgiving rise up, but he uttered not a sound. The girl had done it all for nothing. She could have asked no more from him than Dumbledore did . . . than Lily's memory did. He'd imagined the scene in a thousand times in a thousand different variations. It wouldn't matter who asked him. He knew how it would end. Potter would challenge the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord would respond. Potter would do something foolish and Severus would throw himself between Potter and an untimely but certain death in order to win the boy more time.

She'd done it for nothing. He smiled then, sharp and cold-edged. _Maybe I'll tell her_.

* * *

Voldemort leaned back in his chair as he contemplated the Minister of Magic across the table. He loathed these meetings but they were a necessary evil in controlling the Ministry. Not enough of his own people were in place yet for a complete take-over. Not using his resources wisely and his own impatience for success had been part of his downfall the last time. He would not be making that same mistake again. Flicking his eyes around the table, he brought his attention back to the Minister.

"As was discussed in our last Ministry meeting, steps have been taken to increase the security of the wizarding world in this trying time." Dollart inclined his head graciously in the Minister of Magic's direction. "Based on recommendations put forward by our own Minister of Magic, Aurors have gone out and detained individuals that may have ties to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Based on those detentions, we have opened up Azkaban to a larger population. The steps taken have been distressing," Dollart said, acknowledging those department heads who had voiced opposition to the initial plan, "but I believe that we will see positive results come from our measures."

"What's this I hear about new people?" asked Marigold Shrinker, the head of the Agriculture Department, in a nasally whine.

Dollart gave her a practiced smile as he plotted the old biddy's demise in his head. "Yes, we did add additional personnel to the Ministry roles."

Steepling his fingers before him, Dollart concentrated, deepening the Imperius' hold. "Several of my staff have carefully handpicked additional people with impeccable backgrounds to be installed at Azkaban to ensure that all detainees are taken care of properly."

Thicknesse blinked, a vague frown pulling his brows down. "Wouldn't it be best to have more Aurors there?"

"After further discussions, it was felt that the Aurors would be better used handling real emergencies and not doing guard duty. One or two Auror supervisors should be enough. The other men and women I've recommended should be more than adequate."

The Minister's frown deepened as he struggled against the foreign hold on his will. "We should start the official inquiries immediately. I'm sure many are just mistakes."

An amused Dollart let him struggle for a moment before tightening his control. "Excellent idea, Minister. We do want to let everyone know that we are on top of the situation."

Thicknesse blinked rapidly and then smiled at the assembled Ministers. "Well, I think that does it, unless anyone else has anything they need to add." None of the Department Head who had reported earlier had anything to add. As the meeting broke up, Dollart stood. "If there is nothing else, I'll get back to my other duties?"

Thicknesse waved him away. "Yes, yes, of course."

Dollart turned to his aide, standing discreetly against the back wall. "Mr. Rowle. If you would be so kind, I have a few additional items I need to discuss with you."

"Of course, sir. I'll follow you to your office."

Both men were silent as they walked through the corridors of the Ministry. On reaching Dollart's office and the safety of its privacy spells, Voldemort turned to Rowle. "Everything is in place and ready?"

"Yes, sir. Our people are there and the staging is almost complete."

"Good, then it is almost time. Round up the additional people on the list. Then execute the plan."

Rowle bowed his head. "It will be done, my Lord."

* * *

Miranda Vector headed out of the Great Hall with her head down and purpose in her stride. Students scattered before her but she was too focused on her own thoughts to really notice. Breakfast had been a certified disaster. Between the shock of the news in _the Daily Prophet_ and the suspicions amongst the students that had swept the Hall moments later, to Albus walking out – to say that Miranda could feel bad things coming was an understatement.

Aberforth had been a shock. She and Dumbledore had gone over the implications of the Ministry's move to detain members of the Order. She'd been up late last night modifying the final equations to take into account everything Albus knew from his sources still remaining in key Ministry positions. Dumbledore's brother had not been part of that reworking.

_Merlin's balls, I really hate this_.

Slipping in to her workroom, Miranda threw up a "_Don't Bother Me_" shield and then reactivated her matrix. "That's not right," she muttered, before shutting down the matrix and materializing the equation-filled blackboards. Losing herself in the convoluted intricacies of Arithmancy, she began running through each of the equations. A long time later, Miranda stared in disbelief and something that was almost outrage. "You can't _do_ that," she muttered for the fourth time. The matrix and the laws of Arithmancy ignored her outrage and continued doing exactly what they'd been doing for the last hour or so.

As she'd done the previous four times, Miranda waved her wand and vanished the visual representation of her Arithmancy equations. Another more complicated wave materialized each individual blackboard that contained a matrix equation. Once again she went through each one looking for discrepancies or accidental erasures . . . something . . . anything to explain what she was seeing. For the fifth time, she found nothing. Closing her eyes, even while knowing the futility of that gesture, she waved her wand in the pattern that manifested the matrix. Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes. "Well, shite."

Before her the matrix blinked like one of the Muggle devices that lined the streets in London. One moment the Matrix was as it had been just yesterday evening, a few seconds later it shifted to show You-Know-Who winning and the wizarding world going up in multi-coloured flames. It made no sense.

The matrix had been stable last night. Granted, the loss of so many Order members had shifted the over-all patterns and the probabilities, but both she and Albus had been both surprised and gratified when those probabilities had only shifted by small amounts, not anywhere near the amount they'd both feared. She'd even mentioned Severus' odd conclusion that in the end, most of the Order would not play a decisive role one way or another.

And now this.

"I'm missing something," she grumbled in annoyance. Between the flashing and the colours and the sheer mass of calculations for individuals and groups, it was hard to see anything anymore beyond a jumbled mass of colour. She scrubbed at her eyes. "Something happened." But nothing had been reported in _The Prophet_ that she hadn't accounted for; she even had Severus' information from meeting with You-Know-Who incorporated.

That thought brought her up short. "Severus? Surely not," she argued with herself. Pulling his equation sets out of the jumble of blackboards, she studied the numbers again. "Can't be. He's probably been the most stable equation since I first started working on the numbers seven years ago. Nothing ever seems to-" She stopped and stared at her matrix, her eyes searching. With something almost like dread, she waited until once again the probability shift occurred and then frozen the image. Flicking her wand, she started removing equations until only Severus' remained, the probability line representing him, hanging alone in the middle of her workspace.

_Where the hell is the rogue line?_

_

* * *

_

"Hermione!" Hearing her name yelled, Hermione turned searching the mass of students filling the doors of the Great Hall. Spotting Lavender, she headed over to the other girl. "Lavender," she greeted her roommate.

"I had to go back up to the room right before breakfast and get a book I left behind."

Hermione, hoping Lavender would hurry up, nodded, not understanding exactly what any of this had to do with her.

Lavender gave Hermione a look she couldn't interpret and then said, "I just thought you should know that there were a bunch of weird noises coming from behind your bed curtains."

Unease flooded Hermione. "Weird?" she asked, struggling to keep her voice level. "What kind of weird?"

Lavender gave her a half shrug in return. "Crying and loud snuffling sounds."

Vague unease shot up to worry. Only one individual would be in her bed at this hour._ Rink._ Reaching out she gave Lavender's arm a squeeze. "Thanks Lavender." She was already headed in the direction of Gryffindor before Lavender got out her reply.

Once past the crush of students, Hermione took off in a fast walk. Heading toward the staircase, she was grateful when one of the lower sets of stairs swung around in her direction as she reached the bottom step. She knew Severus would probably have been called last night and that, coupled with the black look he'd sent her at breakfast, had her fears working overtime. Somewhere on the second floor the walk became more of a trot. By the time she was headed up the girls' dormitory stairs anxiety had Hermione running. Dropping her book bag as she came through the bedroom door, Hermione skidded to a stop, her breath coming out in harsh pants. Over the sound of her gasps for air she could very clearly hear through the drawn bed curtains the soft sound of Rink's keen of abject misery.

Flinging back the bed curtains, Hermione felt the ground drop out from beneath her. Rink sat rocking in the middle of her bed, large fat tears rolling down his face, while his ears were folded flat against his head in elfish distress. Puddled around Rink's legs were the sheets she'd made for Snape.

"Rink?" she questioned, although she already knew.

Rink held up the sheets in mute reply between his outstretched hands. Hermione had no problem discerning the large rip that traversed the bottom sheet, as if someone had grabbed one edge and forcibly yanked on the fabric.

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment as disappointment and sorrow bubbled up in her. Then stuffing her feelings down to be dealt with later, she snapped them open. Climbing up onto the bed, she pulled the bed curtains closed and with a flick of her wand set the silencing spell. Settling herself cross-legged in front of the house-elf, she gently took hold of his hands and disentangled him from the sheets. "Hey, it's okay. Tell me what happened."

Rink let out a great snuffling sound. "Rink doesn't know what happened. Master of Potions called Rink very early. Master was angry. When Rink appeared Master said . . . Master said . . . ."

She squeezed Rink's hands reassuringly. "What did he say, Rink?"

Rink made another of those great shuddering sobs. "Master said that he no longer required Rink's s-services."

Hermione felt her stomach knot. "Oh Rink, I am so sorry. I should never have involved you in all of this." Then a horrible thought hit her. "Rink, did Professor Snape give you clothes?"

Rink violently shook his head no, his ears slapping against his face. "Master should have. Rink wishes M-master had given clothes."

Hermione's eyes widened at that. Not even Dobby had _wished_ for clothes. She squeezed Rink's hands again, gripping them tightly. "He didn't give you clothes. Don't you dare go wishing that he had," she said fiercely. "Do you understand me?"

Rink nodded but Hermione thought he was unconvinced. "What else happened?" she asked, although she had a fairly good idea.

"Master had sheets in his hand. Master dropped them at Rink's feet. Told Rink to give Miss Hermione a message." Rink stopped there and Hermione forced herself to ask the next question. "What did he say?"

"Master said, 'Tell Miss Granger that whatever game she thought she was playing is over._ Her_ services are no longer needed either.'"

Hermione had always known that there was a possibility that Snape would find the sheets. Truthfully, as time had gone on, she'd begun to think that they'd never come to light and hadn't given them much thought beyond the good they were doing. She'd never really contemplated the consequences if they'd been found, either in the very beginning or as time had passed and she'd grown closer to Snape.

_Consequences,_ she mocked herself_. How very, very Gryffindor._ It was time to deal with those consequences.

Glancing at her watch, Hermione realised that she'd already missed the beginning of History of Magic. Pushing the sheets over to one side of the bed, Hermione forced as much good cheer into her voice as she could. "Come on Rink. I need you to take me to the kitchens. Can you do that?"

Rink nodded, and with her hands still clasped around his, Rink Disapparated them. The two of them reappeared sitting on top of the long trestle table amidst the hustle and bustle of Hogwarts' kitchens.

With a heavy heart, Hermione looked up, unsure of what her reception would be since she was sure Rink's dismissal had set ears to flapping all over Hogwarts. She stepped cautiously down from the table top only to be overwhelmed by a sea of house-elves greeting her. Within moments she found herself seated, a cup of tea in one hand and a plate of still warm biscuits in front of her. Rink had been seated next to her and was being fussed over as well.

"Miss Hermy honours us," said an elf whom Hermione didn't know.

Hermione shook her head. "Not sure how much of an honour it is to know me at the moment."

The unknown elf gave her a look of tolerant amusement. The same look Hermione had received from her parents over the years whenever she'd done something they considered both childishly naive and childishly amusing. Giving a short bow, the elf said, "Neena will fetch Lonny," and disappeared.

Hermione knew the instant Lonny appeared, as the circle of elves around her and Rink split open to admit the Hogwarts Elven Matriarch. Hermione was on her feet in a heartbeat. "Lonny honours me," she said.

Lonny's mouth twitched in that same look of amusement before she conjured the same low stool that Hermione had first seen her use. Seating herself with great dignity, Lonny waved a hand and said, "Out!" Within seconds, only Hermione, Rink and Lonny remained in the kitchens.

_Consequences,_ she thought, as she prepared to accept responsibility for what had happened with Professor Snape and Rink. Taking a deep breath she started at the beginning with the day she'd first come to the elves for help with Professor Snape and continued on through the destruction of the sheets and the Professor's reaction to both her and Rink this morning, even though she was sure that Rink had already filled Lonny in on those particulars. But she wanted to make sure that Lonny knew that Hermione held herself completely responsible, especially if Rink was going to be in any kind of trouble.

Lonny listened with fixed attention until Hermione finished. Then she studied the pair of them until Hermione was fighting the urge to fidget.

"Rink," Lonny said, "whom do you serve?"

Rink's ears, which had slowly risen during the recitation of events, folded back down. "Rink serves no master or mistress except Hogwarts."

Lonny nodded, as if satisfied with his answer. Then she asked, "Whom _did_ Rink serve?"

Rink's ears rose again. "Rink served the Master of Potions and Miss Hermione."

"Me?" Hermione sputtered in surprise, eyes wide. "You can't serve me."

At her outburst, Lonny pinned her in a stare. Hermione grimaced in embarrassment. "Sorry."

Lonny nodded and turned back to Rink. "The Master of Potions has ended Rink's service?"

"Yes."

Lonny cut her eyes over to Hermione and then back to Rink. "Would Rink change Rink's service?"

Rink's answer came immediately and without hesitation. "Rink served Master of Potions. Master of Potions is better now. Rink could not have served as well without the help of Miss Hermione. Rink would not change Rink's service."

Hermione swung around on the bench seat. "But Rink, he let you go."

Before Rink could answer, Lonny thumped the table, pulling Hermione's attention back to her. "Whom does Miss Hermione serve?" the elf demanded.

Hermione jerked, startled by the question, but realised immediately what Lonny was doing. "I don't serve anyone," she said with a sad smile.

"Whom did Miss Hermione serve?" Lonny asked next, just as she'd done with Rink.

"I served Professor Snape."

"The Master of Potions has ended Miss Hermione's service."

Like Rink, Hermione answered with a simple, "Yes."

"Would Miss Hermione change Miss Hermione's service?"

Hermione sighed softly. "No, I wouldn't change what I've done. Professor Snape needed someone . . . still needs someone. I'm happy to have done what I could. I just wish . . ." she trailed off and then shook her head. "Never mind," she said softly.

Lonny eyed her for a long moment before nodding her head as if in confirmation of something. Then she turned to Rink. "Rink's next service will be to the House of Slytherin."

Rink nodded, and Hermione read his relief in the cant and fold of his ears. She figured that it probably had to do with the fact that at least he'd be able to stay near Professor Snape.

Lonny then turned to Hermione and she was curious to know what 'assignment' the Hogwarts Matriarch would give her. "Miss will never serve again."

"What?" Hermione snapped out and then almost immediately clapped her hand over her mouth, murmuring "sorry" through her fingers.

Lonny gave her another of_ those_ looks. "Miss has done all Miss can with service. Now is time for Miss to take a new role. Master of Potions needs other than one who serves," Lonny said.

Hermione frowned in confusion. "I don't understand."

"Miss Hermione will find Miss Hermione's answer. Rink will serve Slytherin and Hogwarts elves will serve the Master of Potions in place of Rink and Miss Hermione."

"But-" Hermione tried again and then stopped as Lonny's ears swept down in disapproval. Lonny's word as the Hogwarts Matriarch was law and Lonny had spoken. "Yes, ma'am," Hermione said with a disgruntled sigh. "I'm off service duty."

Lonny laughed. "Miss will find Miss's way. Shifting her attention to Rink, Lonny gave him a nod. "Rink will return Miss now."

Hermione felt Rink's hand close about her arm and then found herself back on her bed. A moment later Rink was gone to his new duties and Hermione was alone. Climbing out of the bed, she looked around, unsure of exactly what she should do at this point. She'd missed, for the first time since entering Hogwarts, a good portion of the day's classes for no good reason. If she left now and hurried, she could get to Potions but she really didn't want to go. She couldn't seem to make herself care one way or another about Slughorn or her grade. Some part of her realised that she was in shock and could catalogue the signs and symptoms. The rest of her simply didn't care. So much had changed in twenty-four hours – the Weasleys, the wizarding world, Severus, and Rink. She really didn't know what she should feel first.

Wandering aimlessly around her room, she picked up random objects before putting them back down again. Spying her bookbag and its spilled contents she set about putting it to rights but found she really lacked the energy to get back up off the floor. She studiously avoided looking at the bed where Severus' sheets lay crumpled in a heap. She had no idea what she was supposed to do now. She'd always had plans and had always known the next step that needed to be done. Plans and steps were good and fitted into her orderly world. Harry needed help so she found something to set him on his path once more. Ron and Ginny needs support so she offered them her friendship. Rink was lost, so she did what she could to ease his distress and put right what harm she'd created. Neat, logical steps.

But Severus? Here she was lost. No steps presented themselves. No plans sprang to her mind. No books called to her to research. Sitting on the floor of her room with the silence pushing in around her, Hermione listened to the overly loud beating of her heart. Every so often, she reached up and wiped away tears.

* * *

During the next days, everything Snape had predicted had come to pass. Hogwarts became a gloomy place, filled with silent, suspicious-eyed students. Small knots of students whispered together in the hallways, only to fall silent when another individual walked by. Fights and accusations had broken out several times, not only between the various Houses but within the Houses. One fight in the Ravenclaw common room had ended with four students under the care of Madam Pomfrey.

The slowly building tension within the castle rose up each day, only to explode each morning as more names appeared in each edition of _The Daily Prophet._ The only bright spot was that Harry seemed to have found his calling. The wild swings of temper and paranoia, while not gone, at least had a focal point now. Harry had found an enemy he could focus on rather than the nebulous, out-of-reach Lord Voldemort and he was making a difference.

"How many today?" Harry asked Hermione.

It had become habit for Hermione to be the one to check the paper each morning. Flipping to the correct page, she quickly scanned the information. "Only four. No names I recognise."

Ron grimaced. "That's something. Not much but something." Then pushing his breakfast plate away from him, he gave a quick glance around the hall. "Are we talking to anyone this morning?"

Harry nodded and sat back as well. "Dunnigan in Ravenclaw. He's Muggleborn."

"Best get to it then. Oh, and don't forget, I've got the Head Boy meeting with Dawlish this afternoon. Bloody ponce."

"It works in our favor if the Aurors still think you're spying on us for them," Hermione said.

"Doesn't mean I have to enjoy it and acting like Percy makes my head hurt."

Leting out a half-hearted chuckle, Hermione gave a nod out to the open room, "Quit grumbling and go on." As she watched them head towards the Ravenclaw table, she risked a glance from the corner of her eye up at the Head Table. Professor Snape watched Ron and Harry's progress across the Hall with a deep scowl on his face, but his eyes never turned in her direction.

* * *

Hermione had started out trying to pretend that nothing had changed between them. She tried to be polite and engaging and make her presence known, hoping that Professor Snape would see her remorse. That brought her nothing but silence. When passing Professor Snape in the hallways she greeted him the same. He looked through her now. Defence class had become an ordeal. It wasn't that Snape called on her or used her as a target. For all that he acknowledged her presence; she might as well have not been in the class.

Hermione thought that his indifference might hurt more than if he'd acted his normally acerbic self. He didn't look at her with scorn or hatred or even contempt, he didn't _look_ at her at all. It was as if she was even more invisible than the castle ghosts. She'd even considered simply writing him a message, hoping to explain, but in the end she'd discarded that notion. What needed to be done and said, needed to be done and said in person.

Time and again she told herself that he was hurt and angry, but she couldn't ignore the fact she was hurting as well. Hermione, though not a great reader of fiction, had read enough romance novels in her life – mostly from her mother's stash of books – that she knew the scenario of the pining heroine. Personally, she'd always thought that was pure rubbish and she'd never let any man hurt her like that. She acknowledged now that she'd been more than a little naïve. The hurt was all too real and not easily set aside but as the days progressed Hermione decided she was done with pining.

She might not be able to stop the hurt when Severus' eyes slid past her, but she didn't have to languish like those silly book heroines. Harry and Ron needed her. And Severus . . . well, she could hope that one day he'd forgive her but she'd be damned if she was going to waste away like a gothic heroine in some cheesy romance.

Like most things in life, though, it was easier said than done. But she was learning and taking it one step at a time.

It was to that end that she once again gathered up her sewing supplies, spreading them out across the coverlet of her bed. She chose her needle with great care and carded out several dozen of the fine, white silk threads. Then she reached under the coverlet and felt down along the foot of her bed until her questing fingers hit against a soft bundle of cloth. Pulling it up to her, she shook out the bottom sheet until it was spread across her bed. The magic imbued in the sheets was still there, resonating in her fingertips. She let out a breath in relief. She'd been afraid to really touch the sheets before now, fearing that the magic had faded. It had been silly, but if she hadn't known for sure, then she didn't have to admit that everything really was over. But _they_ hadn't been destroyed, even if everything else had.

But this thing, she'd decided, was the last step in letting go of something that she wasn't even sure she'd ever had to begin with.

"Idiot girl," she muttered to the sheet in her hand. Breathing deep, Hermione summoned her magic and centered it in her chest. When she could almost feel the beat of it like a second heartbeat, she felt herself ready. She'd come a long way since the first time she'd tried this, feeling sure and confident now in both herself and her magic. This time, the magic wouldn't be the drain it had before.

Softly she began to sing, and if this time there was a note of sadness in the words, there was no one to hear but the magic.

**  
**_

* * *

_

**Author's Note 3:** Everyone get out their big boy and girl britches. Very evil things will happen in the next chapter. I, of course, lay the blame for the evil things squarely at Nadrek's feet.


	39. Ch 37: Ashes, Ashes, We All Fall Down

**Author's ****Rant**** Note**: I've messed up again. Back a couple of chapters ago (at the start of 7th year for Hermione) I made a mention about Hermione wanting to get the Marauder's Map to make a copy of it. She was also borrowing Harry's cloak. There were whole set up sections about her copying the map and using the Cloak. Unfortunately, in the interest of this story actually having an ending before we are all old and grey, those scenes were cut. Then I went and forgot to put back in a few one liners that would have established that she actually made her map copy and was using the Cloak. So, for this chapter, please pretend that you knew all this before and that Hermione having a mini-map and the Cloak doesn't come out of freaking nowhere. *sigh* I hate when I mess things up like this. Just irks me to no end, especially since the whole scene after that has been written for almost four years just waiting to get to this point. Grrr.

Thanks to Keladry and whitehound for the beta assist. Someday commas and I will be friends, but today is not the day.

Oh, and just because I haven't done one of these in forever – the world of Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling. And while I thought Rink belonged to me, he has since informed me that he belongs to the Rink fan-girls.

* * *

**  
Chapter 37: Ashes, Ashes, We All Fall Down**

Hermione finished the song, the words of the lullaby fading off into silence before she slumped forward over the sheet in her lap. Eyes closed, she concentrated on taking several deep shuddering breaths. When she was fully back in control of herself, she slowly straightening from her hunched over position, wincing as the muscles in her lower back protested the movement.

"Ow," she grumbled to herself, while twisting slightly from side to side to help relieve the pressure. Using her left hand she gently pried the fingers of her right from around the silver needle. Rubbing hard at the palm of her hand, she finally got the cramped muscles to relax. Doing a quick inventory of herself, she was pleased that while she was tired, she wasn't completely wiped out and the thrum of her magic still beat steadily beneath her breastbone. Repairing the tear had not taken nearly as much energy as creating the sheets.

_I guess it's done now_. Releasing her magic, she used her still aching hand to gather up her supplies, stowing everything carefully away before she unfurled the sheet to spread before her. She was satisfied to see that the material was now whole with the ugly rip down its middle closed with neat, precise stitches. Smiling wearily, she ran her fingers across the mend. The stitches were smooth and flat, barely noticeable. The sigil remained – lioness and snake – only now the lioness had her head down so that she rested on her paws. The snake was coiled beneath the lioness' chin, only faintly visible within the shadows.

Hermione softly brushed a knuckle over the figures, almost petting the golden brown threads of the lioness' fur. "Me too," she said softly. "I'm tired too." Sliding down into the bed, she pulled the sheet around her and fell into dreams she wouldn't remember in the morning.

* * *

Hermione slowly gathered up the ingredients that were scattered across her desktop. She was focusing on her hands, keeping her attention down as the remaining students from her Potions revision class filed out of the room. At one point, she'd had ten students in her class. Now, she was down to five. Truthfully, she was down to three with only Colin, Neville and Agnes coming regularly. Two others drifted in and out of her sessions depending on what problems they were having in Professor Slughorn's class, and even when the two Ravenclaws came, they watched the others with wary eyes. If she didn't already hate Voldemort, she could hate him for the paranoia and distrust that he had sown amongst the Hogwarts students. It was all such a waste.

Hearing the door close, she let out a sigh and felt some of the tension in her shoulders drain away.

"You aren't dressed today."

Thinking she had been alone, Hermione jumped, letting out a short scream in surprise, but her wand was out and pointed towards Agnes before her head caught up with her instincts. "Damn it, Agnes," Hermione snarled, voice harsh and strident in fright.

Agnes did nothing, simply watched until Hermione put away her wand. "You aren't dressed today," she repeated.

It was a statement, but Hermione could hear the underlying question in Agnes' voice. Looking back down at her cleaning, and pointedly ignoring the other girl, Hermione gave a diffident shrug, hoping that Agnes would take it and leave.

"You weren't dressed the last session either. Thought Longbottom or Creevey would say something. Don't seem they're going to."

_So much for letting it go_. Hermione stilled her hands and looked up at Agnes through the strands of curling hair that fell into her face. The other girl was perched on the edge of one of the work tables, her legs crossed under her, while she watched Hermione with solemn blue eyes that seemed way too old for her years, all sharp assessment and appraisal. _Damn Slytherins and their innate need to join the webs and strands of connection between people and events. Cunning, indeed_. "I just didn't feel like it. That's all."

Those blue eyes got even sharper. "You're better than most, but Gryffindors are horrible liars."

"Agnes," Hermione groaned, somewhere between annoyance and exasperation.

"Professor Snape was a complete bear in Defence today."

Hermione blinked at the sudden non-sequitur.

"In fact, Professor Snape was a bear in yesterday's Defence class," Agnes continued. "And the one before that, and the one before that. There are those in Slytherin House who have come to the conclusion that Professor Snape is . . . _angry_." Agnes said the word like it was something special, and then waved a hand to indicate Hermione. "Oh, I know," she continued, "you Gryffindors always think Professor Snape is angry. But this is different."

Hermione felt heat flush her face under Agnes' sharp gaze and damned all Slytherins under her breath. "I . . .I'm sure that he's just concerned with the reports in the _Daily Prophet_."

Agnes tilted her head to one side and Hermione fought the urge to nervously shift her feet. "He took twenty points from Slytherin yesterday in class."

"He does take points from his own House, especially if they're doing something stupid. It's not that rare," Hermione protested.

"Have you looked at the point totals?" Again, Agnes' question seemed to have no bearing on the conversation.

"No," Hermione finally admitted. "The House Cup . . . it's not my priority right now."

"Hufflepuff is in the lead."

"They are?" she asked, and then immediately felt guilty for being so surprised. Hufflepuff couldn't always lose.

Agnes nodded. "They are." The other girl fell silent then, obviously waiting for something.

Hermione finally out a huff of breath. "Agnes, do you have a point to all this?" she finally asked, though she was afraid she knew exactly where Agnes was going.

Now it was Agnes's turn to shrug. "No point. Just observing."

"Observing what?"

"The wizarding world is cracking at the seams. Hufflepuff is in the lead for the House Cup. Professor Snape is taking points from Slytherin. Hermione Granger never smiles anymore and no longer puts on the guise of her favourite teacher."

"He's not my—" Hermione cut herself off when both of Agnes' brows climbed up into her hair. "Oh fine, he's my favourite teacher," she finally snapped.

Agnes grinned but didn't say anything else, for which Hermione was grateful. Thoughts about Snape still hurt too much. "Are you done observing now, Agnes?" she asked instead.

Agnes gave her a slow smile, tinged with something that looked, to Hermione, very much like sympathy. "Yes," she said, jumping down from her perch. "I got everything I wanted to know."

Hermione watched Agnes head out the door with a smug bounce in her step. She shook her head. _God help the wizarding world._  


* * *

The next time Hermione saw Agnes was at Harry's Defence class. Unlike Hermione's, Harry's class had increased as the atmosphere in Hogwarts had grown more strained. Every student who was either Muggle-born or had a Muggle or Muggle-born parent was now part of the class. Other students had joined as well, each for their own reasons. And while it was never spoken openly, everyone there knew they were standing against Voldemort, and everyone there was scared. Stepping into the Room of Requirement each session gave Hermione a sense of pride in her fellow students, just as much as it made her sick. She couldn't help wondering which ones would be dead before it was all over.

With her back to the door and currently engaged in shielding exercise with Padma, Hermione knew the moment Agnes arrived for the Defence revision class. Nothing but the arrival of their one and only Slytherin member could make the tension in the room wind even higher.

"Hey Creevey," Agnes called loudly from behind her, "you going to let me kick your arse today?"

Hermione deflected one of Padma's spells and shot off a _Jelly-Legs_ in retaliation as she kept one ear on the conversation behind her. _She's going to get herself killed one day_.

Colin, towards whom the comment had been directed, laughed. "Like to see you try." Hermione knew Colin liked Agnes. Actually, Hermione was fairly sure he had a tiny crush on the girl.

"That's what you said last time," she catcalled. "And I still kicked your skinny arse."

Hermione went to side-step Padma's next attack and froze at Agnes' next words. "Potter, got some friends who want to join your class."

Padma's _Body-bind_ hit her square in the chest, sending her down to the floor almost instantly. As she hit the floor and rolled, Hermione had a perfect, if somewhat low, view of three more students stepping into the room. All three were wearing Slytherin robes and looking very nervous.

* * *

Ron watched Hermione meander aimlessly back and forth amongst the shelves from his spot on the library couch. He'd found this cozy little nook in the library while looking for one of the older military strategy books. It wasn't chess strategy per se, but chess was war in miniature and in his quest to beast Snape, he'd branched off into books that would have made Hermione's eyebrows rise in disbelief.

It wasn't that he couldn't read, he'd just never found anything all that interesting before. What he had found, or more precisely, what he hadn't found, had both surprised him and explained a lot about the wizarding world that he'd never considered before.

Wizards, as a society, didn't go to war. They had internal conflicts. They had fights. They had factions that more than once had turned to bloodshed, but as one dusty old historian had noted in a book contrasting Muggle and wizarding conflicts, Muggles fought as groups, wizards fought one on one. One wizard, one wand, one spell. There was nothing really in the wizarding world that matched the Muggle capacity for mass destruction. There was a large part of Ron that considered that to be a very good thing. Wizards and witches were too few in number to be able to survive the kinds of wars that Muggles fought.

But he knew Snape's game now and what the wizard had been pushing him towards. He just wasn't sure if he was read to go down that particular path.

"Hermione," Ron hissed softly, as she wandered close.

As she stumbled to a halt at her name, Ron raised his wand, a quick _Luminos_ lighting the tip and illuminating his shadowed alcove.

Spotting the light and Ron, Hermione quickly took the refuge he offered and sank down onto the small settee in the alcove with a sigh.

"You look lost Hermione," he said, taking in her weary appearance.

"I'm fine," she insisted.

"No, you aren't." At her startled expression, he added, "Not stupid, Hermione." Ron gave a diffident shrug. She might have thought he was truly unconcerned except for the white-knuckled grip he had on a box containing a wizarding chess set. "What's going on, Hermione?"

"I don't . . ."

"You're going to lie to me?" Disbelief and hurt coloured his voice. "After everything . . . after you and me and Harry and . . and everything, you're going to lie to me?"

"Ron-"

"No. I want to know what's going on. You went from being you and then you just crashed and now you mope around, but even I can tell that you're trying hard not to mope. Neville says you're not dressing up, whatever that means. You're spending way more time with me and Harry than you used to. Your pet Slytherin shows up with three more Slytherins—"

"She's not a pet!"

"That's not the point," Ron snapped back in frustration. "I want to know what's going on!"

Hermione bit down hard on her lip, as Ron stared angrily at her. He watched as her gaze slid to the wizarding chess set in his hand and saw her eyes light up in recognition. In that moment, it was like someone had said _Lumos_ in a dark room.

"Snape!" Ron crowed, as if the small movement was something he'd been watching – and waiting – for. "He's got something to do with all this," he spat, his inflection caught between a statement and a question.

"Ron-" Again she came to a halt, his name the only word she seemed to be able to get out.

"I know I'm not the cleverest guy around, Hermione, but I'm not stupid either." Ron raised the wood box containing the chess pieces and shook it so that the pieces inside rattled around. "_These_," he said pointedly, "aren't the only things Snape's been maneuvering around."

Abruptly, Hermione laughed, the harsh and bitter sound as obviously shocking to her as it was to Ron, if her crimson-flushed expression was anything to go by. Hermione grabbed hold of his arm as he jerked to his feet, intending to walk away from her. He stopped at her touch but the muscles beneath her hand jerked and flexed with the tension coiling through him.

"I wasn't laughing at you. I really wasn't. It's just . . ." She tugged gently on his arm, until he relented, turning back towards her and sitting down. "It wasn't about laughing at you," she said again. "It's about laughing at me. Well, me and Professor Snape."

She tugged again on his arm as he scowled at the mention of Snape. "We're all so stuck in patterns of Gryffindor and Slytherin and Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. I think I just realised why the various Houses are so at odds with one another." She gave him a smile that looked like it wanted to be reassuring and humorous but wasn't even close. "Don't you see? We mess up each other's plans."

"Not getting you, Hermione."

"Professor Snape messed up my plans. Agnes messes up – well, actually, I think she just enjoys messing with Harry. I messed up . . ." She shook her head, pausing as she gathered her thoughts. "Snape hasn't been maneuvering me. I've been maneuvering him, or at least he sees it that way."

Ron frowned at her, holding himself stiff. "How do you see it?" he asked pointedly.

She made a face. "I was trying to help." Even he could hear the plaintive note in her voice. "I was trying to – I was being a Gryffindor," she finished with a sigh.

"Help with what? And what did the bastard do when he found out? You haven't been attending any detentions, at least not that I've seen anyway."

"It doesn't matter what I was trying to help with, and he's not a bastard, Ron. He hasn't done anything." She frowned again, as if the words meant something else to her. "He hasn't done anything," she repeated, in a soft and somewhat surprised tone. "At least not like he could; not like you'd expect him too."

Ron watched her, wondering if all his friends had gone completely daft. "So what _has_ he done? And don't tell me nothing. You've been brooding and sad and just not you. You didn't yell at me once about studying for our Transfiguration exam last week."

She gave him a ghost of a smile. "Snape stopped talking to me; stopped seeing me."

At that, Ron rolled his eyes, unable to help himself. "Hermione . . . "

"Don't say it. I know there are a lot of students who'd enjoy not being seen by Professor Snape. I just . . . " Sitting back further into the couch she tilted her head back and stared up at the ceiling. "Professor Snape and I . . . we had a connection, of sorts."

A hundred things flew though his mind then, none of them good and each progressively worse than the last. "Hermione," he began carefully, but let out a surprised "Oof," as the back of Hermione's hand connected solidly to his middle.

"Not like that," she stated firmly. "Whatever you were thinking, get it out of your head."

Ron stared at his friend, she was still leaning back, her face titled up. There was a stillness to her that he'd never really noticed before and a sadness that was new. He watched as several tears leaked from beneath her closed lids. "Oh Hermione. I mean, I'd figured out you like Snape, but I thought it was . . . I mean, but . . . Hermione, you . . ." Ron's head filled with a jumble of words, each fighting to be the first ones out of his mouth. He felt like a complete ass when what came out was, "Merlin's balls Hermione, what were you thinking?"

* * *

Loud banging on his door caused Severus to scowl. For one moment he thought _Granger_ but quickly squashed the tumultuous feelings and thoughts the girl's name conjured in him. It wouldn't be Granger. Not at the door to his personal quarters. Not Albus or Minerva either as they would have used the Floo connection. Grumbling under his breath, he went to the door and pulled it open. Miranda Vector stood before him, one hand still upraised.

"Took you long enough," she said, storming past him into his quarters.

Reining in his temper, he fixed her with a glare. "It is," he flicked a glance to the clock hanging on the wall, "almost two o'clock in the bloody morning and I did not invite you in."

She answered him with a rude noise that was more suited to a third year Gryffindor as she settled herself comfortably on his sitting room couch. "Like you were sleeping. I don't think you've slept more than a few hours a night since I started teaching here."

_I used to sleep_, came the thought but he shook it off. "I enjoyed your company more when you were as wary of me as the rest of the faculty." He frowned down at her when she looked pleased at the comment. "Why are you here?"

"Because you great bloody ponce, you're going to die."

He stared at her, neither amused nor impressed with her pronouncement. "Ravenclaws – always so dramatic when revealing their great truths." Straightening up to his full height, he tried to get her up and herded back towards the door. "You've delivered your great insight. Drama has been satisfied. If you will excuse me-"

"Drama?" she sputtered. "Did you not hear me? You are going to die."

Reaching up, he dug his fingers into the bridge of his nose. "This is different _how_ from what I already knew?"

"What?" she asked in astonishment.

He gave her a looked mixed with equal parts pity and disgust. Settling his control around him like a cloak, he forced a note of calmness into his voice. "You've known for months that the probabilities of my continued existence were in flux and minimal at best. The fact has vexed the Headmaster greatly. But this is nothing new, so I do not understand your distress."

"Distress?" Vector repeated, staring at him in what looked to be shock. "Distress? Merlin's balls, it's no wonder you have no friends. You've got ice-water running through your veins. And don't be raising that brow at me. I consider myself your friend."

Both brows went up in surprise at that pronouncement and then slammed back down.

Not seeming to notice his hastily concealed surprise at her words, Vector continued on. "You are my friend," she said slowly, as if speaking to a first year, "whether you want me or not. And if you think I'm going to just sit by and let this happen, you're out of your little Slytherin mind."

As it seemed that she'd finally run out of steam, Severus debated on just body-binding her and putting her out the door, but his own curiosity finally won out. "Do you have a point in all this blithering?"

She flashed a brilliant smile at him, to which he glared in return. _Is no one afraid of me any more?_

"The point is that I think I've narrowed down the instability." She pulled her wand. "Here, let me show you."

He studied her matrix for a moment before shrugging. "It does not seem all that different to me."

Vector nodded. "Exactly. But compare it to _this_ one." The new matrix that materialized beside the one already dancing in his small sitting room seemed somehow cruder and half-finished to his untrained eye. "What am I looking at?"

"A point in time. I got the idea a few days ago. This is from early last year." She gestured with her wand again. The image shifted subtly. "This is after an encounter I had with Miss Granger later in the year. Note the positioning of the rogue line." She flicked her wand several more times in rapid succession, the duplicate matrix shifting each time.

"All points in time concerning Miss Granger," he said, beginning to see and chart the jumps with the matrix.

Vector shook her head with a sly grin. "Not just Miss Granger, Severus, but Miss Granger and you."

His mind racing, he settled down into his own chair. "Again, not that remarkable," he said, voice calm and even. "We've know that Miss Granger was moving in my direction, for lack of a better term." He gestured to the matrix. "Her probability line has been shadowing mine on this course for a while." He didn't say that he know knew and understood how Granger's line had come to parallel his. But it was done and over now, and he fully expected that the next time Vector ran her equations, Granger's matrix line would be shown moving away from him.

"Yes, Albus and I discussed that. Albus always surmised that it was in order to bring Harry in closer to you. That Miss Granger would be the catalyst that united Potter and you in the fight. Now, though, I don't believe that's the case. I think Hermione Granger is separate in all of this from Potter and the prophecy."

He squinted at the coloured lines. He was tired and between the colours and the spinning, he was beginning to get a headache. "Granger is irrelevant. Her probability has" -- his lips twisted -- "met mine and Potter has not become any more enamored of he than he ever has been. Whatever potential Granger was suppose to have brought is lost and unless I'm mistaken, the rogue is still set to intersect with me sometime very soon. Perhaps you should be more concerned with that."

"Stubborn man," Vector said. "That is what I'm concerned about. I think that rogue is somehow linked to Miss Granger. Hellsfire! For all I know, the rogue _is_ Miss Granger, or at least a part of Miss Granger that I'm somehow not seeing or not calculating but is somehow still an influence."

Severus felt his gut tightened and cold wash down his spine. He knew what that influence was but couldn't bring himself to explain. It was personal. His next words were sharp and meant to misdirect. "So, you believe, what? That she's an agent for the Dark Lord and is going to kill me?"

"Oh, of course not. But I do know that something happened a few days ago that sent the probabilities and possibilities spinning." Vector turned a speculative expression to him. "Something happened a few days ago that sent Miss Granger spinning."

Severus stiffened in the chair. "I have no idea what you are talking about," he said flatly.

She huffed at him in that annoying way that women had – the one that let you know that they didn't believe a word that you were saying. "Don't you? The young woman's light has gone out, Severus."

Sudden anger coiled within him, shooting him to his feet and across the room. "Why is everyone so concerned about my relationship with Granger?" he ground out through clenched teeth, knowing even as he said the words that he should have just kept his mouth shut.

Vector's jaw dropped in astonishment but she schooled her expressed before he could remark on her resemblance to a carp. Her eyes lit with curiosity, she leaned forward on the couch. "Who else has commented?"

For a long minute Severus debated answering and then finally spat out, "Minerva."

"Minerva?" That surprised her it seemed. "I wouldn't have thought . . . but then I suppose she would be in position to notice." Vector's expression grew thoughtful. "And she hasn't said anything before now. Huh? Minerva."

"Yes, Minerva – the tartan-wearing, wasp-tongued, grey-haired Scottish harridan. She wanted to know what I'd done to upset Granger, which is a patently absurd accusation because I've not spoken to the girl in over a week."

Vector huffed at him again. "Severus Snape, you are not that dense." At his mulish expression she added, "The young woman has a crush on you."

"She is a child," he snapped back, his own feelings in a tumultuous uproar.

"Child? Oh, sweet Merlin, protect me from men. She's a woman, young yes, but not a child."

"I do not want to hear this," he stated, swinging around until he was facing partially away from Vector and the two matrixes that still spun in the space between them. He was too paranoid to put the woman at his unprotected back, but his stance gave the illusion that he was ignoring her.

"You have to." She gestured angrily at the matrix. "Severus, she's been falling for you since the summer, possibly even before that. She cares about you and her caring . . . I swear to you Severus, on everything I've ever learned about Arithmancy, her caring is part of that rogue."

He scoffed but Vector was having none of it.

"What happened?" she demanded. "Severus, you've cut off all communication with the girl, even I've noticed that. She's devastated. Heart-broken."

_Heart-broken_. The word resonated inside of him, touching on old memories and half-healed wounds. "She is no such thing and it is time for you to go. You can see yourself out."

He spun on his heel and headed for his sleeping quarters leaving a bewildered Vector standing alone in his sitting room. Even as he slammed the door to his bedroom behind him, he knew he was running but couldn't seem to stop himself. His heart was beating too fast, his breaths came in choppy gasps. Vector was wrong. There was no crush. There was no relationship. There was no caring.

_Caring gets you dead. I do not care,_ he insisted to himself. Granger had betrayed _him_. She had no right to be heart-broken.

* * *

"_Hermione, what were you thinking?"_

Ron's voice still sounded in her head two days later. Funny thing was that she couldn't explain. Certainly couldn't explain to him, wasn't even sure she could explain it to herself. Looking at the beginning when it had all started, she couldn't make the leap from _there_ to _here_, but if she followed the path, each step forward and back, she found she always ended up nowhere else but here. _And isn't that just the thought to bring forth the big melodramatic sigh?_ sniped the internal voice in her head that always sounded suspiciously like Snape.

Annoying or not, the acid-laced voiced was right. She'd promised herself she wasn't going to fall into the trap of the wailing, besotted heroine waiting for her knight-in-shining-armour, although, if she was going with the silly analogies, Severus was more the black dragon of the tale than the errant knight.

Hermione snorted in self-mocking amusement. _Guess that makes me the plucky kitchen wench and not the refined lady in the tower._

Shifting the bundle in her arms, she took a deep breath. "Quit blithering and face your dragon, Hermione," she said firmly, in an only partially successful effort to raise her courage. Taking one more deep breath, she pushed open the door to Professor Snape's office. Snape was seated behind his desk, his head bent as he read. From the pained expression on his face, Hermione guessed that he was grading Defence papers.

She knew that he had to have heard her come in, but since he'd yet to raise his head, she took the opportunity presented to study him in this quiet moment. She thought he looked pale and stressed, and even with all the hurt between them, she fervently hoped that she was not the reason for the faint smudges that shadowed the pale skin beneath his eyes. As he finally raised his head, she saw _something_ flash across his expression too fast to name or categorize. As it vanished, what was left was a stony mask that she could not see through.

"Miss Granger."

Hermione shivered at the flat coldness in Severus' voice, but refused to back down. He had the ability to hurt her, but he'd long ago lost the ability to scare her.

"I realise that you don't want to speak with me," she began before he could run her off. "But I needed to say some things and to apologize." She paused, hoping to see the mask he wore crack, but when his face remained expressionless she hurried on. "I could tell you how everything started. I could give you excuses and reasons but you aren't interested in those and I know that. I could tell you that my intentions were good and that I would hope to never do anything that would cause you harm."

She paused again and sent him a small, rueful smile that faded quickly at his continued unresponsiveness. "I suspect, though, that you are no more interested in my intentions than my reasons." She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "So I won't go in to any of those things. I will say that I'm sorry that I hurt you, that I didn't tell you . . . explain it all to you earlier. I guess I was just thinking, hoping really, that it wouldn't ever come up."

"I need no apology from you," he finally said, his voice still remote and cold. "An apology would mean that you have the power to hurt me. I can assure you, you do not." He paused. "If that is all?"

Even phrased as a question, she knew the dismissal when she heard it. Tightening her arms around the bundle in her arms, she said, "One last thing."

He didn't speak, simply watched her and waited. Cold, remote and untouchable. How she wanted to shatter that implacable calm façade.

"Rink." She could see that her mention of the house-elf surprised him. "Everything Rink did," she said, "he did because I asked him. You are justifiably angry with me. But, please, don't take that out on him."

He stood then, arms folded across his chest. "Why should I not?" he asked.

She dared to take a few steps towards him, shortening the distance between them. "Because he adores you. Because serving you, being _your_ house-elf brings him great joy. He doesn't deserve to pay for my actions."

"And if the condition of my acceptance in taking the elf back is that you sever all ties?"

She swallowed. She had already considered that breaking off ties with Rink would be one of his conditions. But now faced with the choice, it hurt more than even she thought it would "If that's what you want," she finally said, her voice subdued.

He tilted his head to study her, black eyes suddenly gleaming. "Won't this severance of your friendship with him be seen as a . . . betrayal?"

She flinched as he said the word, but she raised her head high and shook it. "Rink serves you. In this, I serve as well. He understands that."

He studied her and she stood straight and still beneath his regard, never letting him know just how much she wanted to throw herself at him and argue and plead with him like the Gryffindor she was. She wanted to get angry and yell and listen to him yell back at her. She wanted this scene to be angry and filled with seething emotions. But she let none of that out because she knew it wouldn't change a thing. So she did this his way and kept every little thing wound down tight inside her.

"Very well," he finally said.

Her eyes closed as the relief swept through her. Now, she had only one last, difficult task to perform before she could go somewhere and have herself one last cry. Hugging her bundle once last time, she then forced herself to hold it out to him. "These are yours and you should have them back."

When he didn't reach to take the items, she took another halting step towards him and moved to place the items neatly on his desk.

"Thank you, Professor," she said quietly and turned to go.

In every romantic movie Hermione had even watched, this was the part where the reluctant hero had a change of heart and called back the departing heroine. Hermione couldn't help holding her breath as she neared the office door and stepped through.

It closed behind her with solid finality. Tears welled up but she blinked them away before they could fall. Two deep breaths and she was once again in control. _Guess, I don't get the Hollywood cliché ending_.

Curiosity compelled him, even as he fought to remain indifferent. Finally, unable to resist, he stepped around his desk to approached the bundle on the far side. On top, washed and pressed into neat, crisp folds was one of his handkerchiefs. He recognised this as the one he'd given to her when she'd clung to him for comfort at the news of Lupin's death and the Weasleys' capture.

Removing the handkerchief, he found one of his teaching robes. Again, it had been cleaned and neatly pressed. He frowned and then remembered – the night he'd been locked in the Legilmency feedback loop. Rink had brought her to him. She'd still been in her nightclothes and he'd given her the robes as cover. He'd forgotten that she even still had them.

Sliding his fingers beneath the heavy fabric, he lifted the robe up and away, setting it beside the handkerchief on the desk.

Something very much like regret made him suck in his breath at the last item. There, neatly folded, were the sheets. Reaching out, he traced a finger along the line of neat stitches that repaired the rip. Each stitch was neat and precise, no one stitch pulling or gathering the fabric too tightly. He knew each tiny repair had been done by hand so as not to interfere with the original magic imbued in the cloth.

Vector's voice from the previous evening rang in his ears: _She cares for you. Heart-broken._

Severus swallowed hard and then restacked the bundle with precise movements. Then turning, he left the room, leaving everything behind.

* * *

Thorfinn Rowle shifted his weight slightly so that the crisp folds of his midnight blue robe fell into straight lines. He let a faint smile touch his lips when the Auror puppy supposedly guarding him met his eyes before nervously glancing away. Rowle savored the other's uneasiness.

"Auror Gruene?" Rowle let just the right amount of impatience and annoyance colour his words.

Gruene flushed at his tone. "I'm sorry Mr Rowle," he stammered. "I-I can't imagine what's taking so long. Auror Davison should be back any minute. If you'll just-" The boy cut off his babbling as the inner door to the antechamber they were in swung open. He didn't hear anything but Rowle would bet good galleons that the puppy sighed in relief.

"Mr. Rowle, the Warden will see you now. If you would follow me please?"

The female Auror was polite enough, but Rowle could practically see her distaste for him. A pity that, as Davison was obviously cut from sterner cloth than the puppy, as she met Rowle's gaze steadily. Rowle graced her with a small, bland smile in return, the one usually reserved for servants and social inferiors. It pleased him when Davison's eyes went flat with poorly concealed anger. "Of course, Auror Davison." He gestured behind the woman to the open the hallway. "Please, lead on."

Inwardly laughing, he followed behind the stiffly retreating back down several twisting passageways that had been hewn into the very bedrock of the island that made up Azkaban prison. Finally stopping before an iron-bound wooden door, the Auror knocked once before pushing the door open.

"Mr. Thorfinn Rowle from the Ministry of Magic to see you, Warden Morrison."

Rowle heard a low murmur from within and then Davison was stepping back and gesturing him into the room. "Sir," she said stiffly, dislike curling around the word.

He gave her a nod, dismissing her presence entirely, and entered the room. It, like the corridors, was magically carved out of the underlying rock of the island. Unlike the hallways, the room had been magically altered to have at least the minimal appearance of comfort. A thick rug graced the floor and muted his footsteps. Tapestries hung from two of the walls while a large painting of a scenic valley graced one of the other walls. To Rowle it had the feeling of trying to put a fine silk gown on a Knockturn Alley whore. Dress it up however you wanted, she was still just a whore.

Taking a seat, he waited until the Warden performed a series of spells and finally leaned back in his own chair.

"Everything is prepared and ready?" he asked without preamble.

Morrison nodded, licking his lips nervously. Rowle noticed the gesture and filed it away. Knowledge was always power and knowledge of potential competition was powerful indeed. Morrison was not a Death Eater but one of those that endlessly circled the Dark Lord's elite, waiting for the chance to take their place at the Dark Lord's side.

Rowle settled himself in his chair, watching the Warden of Azkaban fidget in his pretentious leather chair. Rowle was careful not to let his disgust for the round, little man display on his features, although it was hard. Rowle was a pragmatic man, he understood both the complexities and the sometimes delicate touch that was often required to both foster and ensure loyalty among the Dark Lord's followers. He was no LeStrange that relied on brute force, or even a Malfoy who thought that money motivated all people. Rowle knew what really motivated people. He knew and understood the intricate web of hopes and dreams and that ultimate desire to be on the winning side – to be liked and respected and admired, not only by one's peers but by the unwashed masses that huddled at your feet.

That's what drove Morrison and others like him. He wanted to grow up be a Death Eater. As if by stepping into the elite circle of the Dark Lord's followers, he could somehow no longer be the short, overweight, unimpressive wizard of average intelligence that he was. Warden Eli Morrison would do anything to become the great and powerful wizard he knew himself to be in his delusions of grandeur.

Rowle gave him a smile full of genial good-cheer. As if this wizard could ever have stood at the Dark Lord's right hand.

Thorfinn Rowle would have that position. Malfoy had slipped in favour recently. Bellatrix and the Carrows were too insane to be trusted with the power. Goyle, Crabbe, Antonin all lacked both the wit and vision. Only Snape stood between Rowle and what he wanted and Snape could and would be dealt with. With this victory, the Dark Lord would see Rowle's usefulness and the promise of what he could bring in the new wizarding world order. Soon. Very soon.

"Is everything in order, Warden?" he asked again.

"Oh, yes. Yes. I've set everything up to your specifications. Everything . . . and everyone is in place."

"Good. Good. I can tell you, Eli -- I may call you Eli, can't I? -- that the Dark Lord will be well pleased with this operation. I have no doubt that with this success _he_ will speak favourably with you about your further ambitions."

The Warden beamed, his body nearly quivering in his excitement. "Oh! Yes, well, of course. I mean . . . well, we have much to discuss."

Rowle smiled. "We do indeed."

* * *

"I'm pathetic."

Saying the words out loud was not as comforting as she thought it would be. She given Snape back his things -- back the sheets -- three days ago. She had hoped that with her apology he would thaw a little towards her. It hadn't happened. Nothing had changed, except that now Ron glared even more at Snape and kept giving her this little look that spoke of equal parts confusion and pity.

"Pathetic and sad."

She found herself back in her four-poster bed, thoughts of S.N.O.R.T. bringing a bittersweet smile to her face. She couldn't help him . . . couldn't . . . not if he didn't want her. Not if he didn't even want to acknowledge her.

Curling in a loose ball beneath her covers she closed her eyes seeking sleep but an unnamed restlessness prickled at her. Tossing from side to side in a vain attempt to find a comfortable spot she finally gave up after an hour. Flipping onto her back she stared up into her canopy and fought the feeling of déjà vu. Finally with a muffled groan, she sat up and scrubbed her hands through her hair until she was certain she looked like the Bride of Frankenstein.

Giving in to the restlessness, she snaked an arm out from between her hanging bed curtains and rooted around in the drawer of her bedside table until she found the two items she was looking for: Harry's Invisibility Cloak, neatly folded into a small square packet, and her S.N.O.R.T. notebook. She'd had Harry's cloak for a while and kept meaning to return it but things just seemed to keep happening and she still had it. The notebook was her own indulgence and contained a slightly modified and less spell intricate form of the Marauder's Map. She had made the map at the beginning of the school year in order to help her keep track of Snape. She'd got so used to the thought of knowing where he was last year that she'd made her own simpler version just so she could check on him. She didn't see it as stalking so much as just doing occasional spot checks on Snape. She hadn't used the notebook in months though as the thin layer of dust on its jacket attested.

Rubbing it against her covers, she wiped it clean and flipped it open to the back where a simple accordion style sheet of paper was folded and attached to the back cover. Grabbing her wand from under her pillow, she tapped the paper three times. "Open Sesame." It didn't have quite the flare of the original map's 'I solemnly swear I'm up to no good,' but she hadn't created it for style points.

The map unfolded itself across her knees, colours and lines bleeding out across its surface. Again she tapped the paper with her wand. "Show me Severus Snape."

The lines shifted and redrew themselves until she could see a flat representation of the dungeons where Snape's quarters were still housed. He was pacing if his footsteps across the parchment were any indication. She watched his steps for a few minutes and felt the hurt well up inside of her. _This is a bad idea. What am I doing?_

"Idiot," she whispered to herself. "No pining heroines, remember?" With that reminder, she reached for her wand again to close to the map when the footsteps stopped their movement in the middle of the room. For long moments they stayed there and then he ran. Confused, she watched as the steps criss-crossed the space, moving quickly to the fireplace where they paused for a few seconds, then to the bedroom, and back again to the fireplace. The footsteps halted and then they out the door. Confused, she watched as Professor Snape steps left the dungeons. It only took a second after seeing a new secret passageway appear on the Map for her to realise that Professor Snape was leaving the castle. Seeing those disembodied footprints walk with a quick and measured tread across the Map did something to Hermione. By the time the inked representation of Professor Snape walked off the edge of Map, Hermione's heart was pounding for no reason she could name.

Hermione knew with certainty that Professor Snape was heading out to meet with Voldemort. Nothing else would explain his leaving through one of the secret passages that riddled the castle. Legitimate business would have seen him leaving from the front gates. She'd known he went periodically to see his dark Master. She'd seen the aftermath of one such meeting not too long ago. But knowing something after the fact was far different from watching that person walk out to what could easily be their death, and for all the watching she'd done so far, she'd never before seen Snape walking away.

A suffocating need rose up in her then, making her gasp for breath. It didn't matter if he wasn't speaking to her. It didn't matter that he probably hated her. Almost in a panic, she grabbed up a pair of jeans and stuffed her feet down into a pair of trainers. Ignoring the need for a shirt, she grabbed up Harry's borrowed Invisibility Cloak and her notebook map from the bed and propelled by the need to see Snape before he left raced for the stairs. Pounding down the stairs, her mind scrambled around for the best vantage point to catch him – Astronomy Tower . . . Clock Tower . . . something high with a view . . . where . . . where . . . the rose window on the unused fourth floor. She'd discovered it during one of her meandering walks caused by the castle's staircases.

Ignoring a few late night fellow students in the Common Room, she leaped over a boy lying across a pillow on the floor in her headlong flight across the room.

"Hey, Granger, where are-"

She was already gone, the sound of voices behind her abruptly cut off as the portrait door swing shut behind her.

Not even bothering with the Invisibility Cloak tucked under her arm, she took off running, her feet hammering out a steady rhythm, the noise echoing the chant in her head – _don't be gone, don't be gone, don't be gone_.

Sliding around the corner that led to the moving staircase, Hermione slapped her hand hard again the stone wall. "Stairs," she implored the castle, even as she continued running. "Please, I need stairs to the big window on the fourth floor."

Whether luck or the castle was with her, as she topped the landing a set of stairs leading upward ground to a halt before her. Leaning into the climb, she took the stairs two at a time until she hit the proper landing for putting on a fresh burst of speed as entered a long, dusty hallway. Out of breath and hand pressed tightly to the stitch in her side, Hermione skidded to a halt in front of the giant rose window on the fourth floor. Pressing her face against the cold glass, she growled low in frustration as her breath immediately fogged the windowpane. Swiping hastily at it with the edge of her sleeve, she gazed out across the grounds toward the Dark Forest, the chant still pounding in her head – _don't be gone, don't be gone_.

Relief flooded her as she spotted Snape, a shadow within shadows, moving steadily across the grass. She watched as he moved past the boundary that marked the Hogwarts' grounds; watched as he pulled something that glinted silver in the moonlight from within his dark cloak; watched as he Apparated away.

He'd gone to Voldemort.

Sinking down to the floor, she made herself comfortable, finally throwing the crumpled Invisibility Cloak over herself, as much for warmth as to protect herself from a corridor-prowling Filch. Alternating between looking out the window and down to the unfurled Map, Hermione settled down into her vigil to wait for Professor Snape's return.

Four long hours later, hours in which she'd imagined all sorts of horrible things, Hermione surged to her feet when the darkness at the edge of the Dark Forest moved. Making sure the Cloak covered all of her; she used the map to guide her steps, making sure that she would be nearby when Professor Snape crossed over from the grounds into the castle.

* * *

Dumbledore knew the instant that Severus returned, the ancient wards that had protected the school since its founding rippling across his magical senses as they had for every Headmaster that had sworn the oaths to protect the school and those who dwelled within.

Setting down his quill, he let out a small sigh of relief. Albus was well aware of the hardships and sacrifices of war, knew the risks that his Potions master courted every time he answered Tom's summons. Yet for all that he might wish to keep the other man safe, he couldn't. Albus needed the information that only Severus could bring him. So with a ruthlessness that few ever saw, he sent the younger man out, knowing each time that it could be the last time. And every time, he waited here in his office for the other to return to him. Not that Severus, himself, would ever stand for the kind of cosseting that would be required for Albus to keep him within the safe confines of the walls.

With a bit of concentration and wave of his hand, he banked the flames leaping in the fireplace. Throwing a cloak over his dressing gown, Albus summoned one of the floating candles to light his way. Taking one of the castle's hidden short cuts, Albus descended down within the very walls of the castle until coming out in the dungeons. Here, he abandoned the hidden ways and stepped out into a torch-lit corridor. He could have continued to follow the passage straight into Severus' quarters, but he had no wish to surprise Severus, especially now when he was winding down from a meeting with Tom and when his own relationship with the younger man was so strained.

Reaching the Potion master's door, Albus pushed, expecting it to yield to his touch. He was surprised when the door remained firmly shut. Reaching out with magically senses, Albus frowned in concern when he realised that the personal wards that Severus normally kept over his rooms were still up.

Beginning to feel the first stirrings of worry, Albus reached his senses out further, joining his awareness to the wards that encircled the castle and felt them jangle in something that felt like warning. Worry turned to alarm, as Albus realised that Severus had breached the outer wards, but the castle's inner wards had not announced his presence. Closing his eyes to better focus, Albus felt along the wards until he could pinpoint exactly where Severus had crossed into the castle. A few moments later he found him.

Breathing a quick sigh of relief, Albus headed back out of the dungeons. Albus found Severus in a small, abandoned courtyard choked with overgrown weeds and skeletal trees that waved claw-like branches into the night air, and where the cold, silvery moonlight threw sharp-edged shadows across the flagstones. Yet there was stark kind of beauty here among the desolation if you had the sight to see it. If you could look beyond the outward appearance and see the untamed splendor in the plants that stubbornly refused to give up their places in the overgrown beds, in the contrast of darkest shadow gilded with silver moonlight, and in the cold frost that sparkled with hidden fire as the moon touched it. Severus blended into this place as if his surroundings were no more than an outward representation of what was inside the man, one more shadow among dozens of others, harsh, sharp-edge and cold.

Albus stepped out, each footstep ringing against the flagstones with a sound like shattering glass. Pulling his robe closer as the late November winds swirled around him, Albus settled himself next to the other man on the last unbroken bench. He offered no lemon sherbets, nor pithy bits of wisdom, just sat beside him, waiting.

Fine tremors periodically ran through Severus' body, though Albus couldn't tell if the bitter cold or other things caused them. Things Albus didn't particularly want to dwell on. Even so, he was more concerned about the short, panting gasps that were caught and held for long moments before being released in shuddering breaths. Those rasping exhalations spoke of spells other than the _Cruciatus _Curse. Tom liked to use Cruciatus to test the metal of his Inner Circle, put preferred to use other spells as punishment. Cruciatus, after all, if used too long could cause permanent mental damage. There existed other dark spells that could be used to cause just as much pain as the Cruciatus yet leave no permanent injury. _And if Tom is using spells to punish, what has Severus done, or not done, to provoke them?_

So they sat as Albus watched his spy from the corner of his eye, knowing the other would not appreciate his staring and worrying. So focussed was he on Severus that he almost missed the patch of unnatural blurriness partly concealed behind the fallen remains of a centaur statue. Narrowing his eyes in concentration, he focussed on that blurred spot until he spotted a shadowed leg encased in Muggle jeans poking from behind the centaur's tail, overlaid with the hazy shadow that identified someone under an Invisibility Cloak.

_Harry._

For a moment, Albus felt a shock of anger mixed with sorrow aimed at Harry for this intrusion. Severus would not be happy to know that James Potter's son was witness to this moment of what Severus would no doubt perceive as weakness. Debating as to whether to unmask the boy, Albus decided against it. Maybe seeing what Severus endured at Tom's hands would ease some of the distrust the boy held for the Potions master. Deliberately he turned from the statue. It would do him no good if Severus noticed his preoccupation with the statue's remains. His spy was no fool, after all, and more sensitive than most to the presence of things both seen and unseen.

Long minutes later, Severus jerked as a hard, protracted shudder swept through him. That was what Albus had been waiting for.

Pulling his robes tighter around his body, Albus carefully avoided looking at Severus, but directed his words instead to the withered remains of a Bilberry bush. "I'm not as young as I used to be, Severus. Might we go inside where it's warmer? I've a nice fire and a pot of tea waiting in my office. I do believe I even have those almond biscuits you like."

Another minute passed before Severus finally answered. "They are all dead," he said, his normally deep and smooth tones husky and jagged. It was the sound of a voice that had gone hoarse from screaming.

Albus closed his eyes in shock at the words, the taste of ashes in his mouth. But he didn't ask. Severus would tell him soon enough and Albus had sat this scene with Severus enough times to know that whatever information Severus was about to tell him could not be rushed. He thought again on Harry, crouched across the courtyard but decided that this might be the final impetus that put Harry on his path. He only hoped that Harry would control himself.

And so they sat, Severus making no move to leave while the shadows crawled across the flagstones. Albus waited with the patience learned from all his years, until finally with a small sigh Severus stood, he gaze flat. "It was a set up. The Dark Lord had the Death Eaters attack Azkaban this evening. Only it was staged not as an attack, but as a rescue effort."

The words were ragged as Severus' voice, as if he'd detached himself from the sound of them. He painted a bleak and horrific picture. Death Eaters on brooms sweeping across the dark water. An explosion that rocked the fortress prison splitting open the south-facing wall. Screams and pleas. Aurors sweeping in and firing on the detainees that had been rounded up by the Ministry, sure in their knowledge that the Death Eaters were coming to rescue their own kind.

Albus fought the cold that wound up around him. "Survivors?"

Severus nodded. "Some. The important ones. The ones the Dark Lord wants." He stopped, and then continued more softly. "I saw Molly Weasley go down. I cannot say about the others. The chaos . . ." Severus shook his head. "It will take some time to sort out and I will need a pensieve." Severus finally turned and looked at Albus. "Be prepared. The Dark Lord . . . tomorrow will be . . ." he trailed off again and then seemed to shake himself.

Turning, he held out his hand to Albus, who grasped it in gratitude. Letting the strength in the other's arm pull him to his feet, he tottered for a moment to get to his balance on feet he could no longer feel. Only when he had his balance did Severus remove his hand to step backwards, re-establishing his customary distance between them.

Severus didn't wait for him, but instead turned and entered the castle and Albus watched him go, sparing a single glance behind him to where Harry still crouched, the protective covering of the Invisibility Cloak wrapped tight around him.

Crouched behind the broken remains of a marble statue of a centaur, Hermione shook with a swirling mixture of emotions as tears streamed down her face.

* * *

**  
Author's Note 2**: Evil has reared its ugly head as evil is so wont to do. One more chapter of evilness and then we have the following to look forward to: more Hermione and Severus, Harry stepping up the plate, Ron becoming all he was meant to be, Filius stepping center stage, Vector finding out more answers and more questions, Albus realising he's messed up big time, plans, mourning, Slytherins, Moody and the countdown to kicking Voldemort's arse.

**Author's Note 3:** I know Severus is being a big doofus but I hope you guys will be patience with him. He's getting his world rocked and dealing with several emotional blows and insights into his own feelings (feelings that a year ago he would have sworn he wasn't capable of having) that he doesn't know how to handle it. I promise he'll quit being such a ninny soon. Of course, that doesn't mean that he won't backslide on occasion. And Hermione is waffling herself. She's trying to be grown up about the whole thing. She's trying to do what she thinks is the right thing. And she's young yet, so unlike Severus, she's a lot more in tune with her emotions.


	40. Ch 38: Shattered

**Author's Note:** I know that it's been over a year. I know you guys are probably annoyed. I know I suck. But, I am working on the story. I have not abandoned it. The plan was to finish the story and post it all in one chunk, however, several readers have asked that I go back to chapters. So, here you are, a bit of chapter. Some readers will have already read part of this chapter as it appeared on my livejournal. So, all I ask is that you guys don't hate me too much. There will be more forthcoming.

A big old shout out to the following readers - Un Tango Mas, Villafoo, Gadine, Egeria61, WishfulThought and Emma T. They've been very encouraging about urging me to keep writing. There have been others over the months but if I named everyone, the list would be longer than the chapter.

And last but not least, this thing is not betaed so beware of stray commas and run-on sentences.

* * *

**Chapter 38: Shattered**

Albus followed Severus through the corridors, feeling the warmth of the castle seep back into his old bones. Perhaps it was only Harry's jarring presence in the courtyard earlier that set him on edge, but fine old wizard instincts that had kept him alive for a very long time, were jangling now for his attention. Shuffling to a halt, Albus let Severus go on without him. Closing his eyes against distractions, he sent his senses back out to the castle wards. The wards were quieter now, lacking the fierce agitation from earlier, but there was still a faint underlying sense of distress. Yet, at the same time, nothing stirred at this late hour that the castle disapproved of.

"Odd." The word echoed faintly back to him from the corridor.

Shaking his head, he put away the feeling and set off again. Severus had not stopped nor slowed down for him, so by the time Albus made his way down to the dungeons, Severus had already set up a fire in the grate and was methodically going through the motions of making tea.

Settling into his customary spot in one of the wing chairs, Albus watched Severus, noting the unmistakable signs of stress in the tightness of the other man's shoulders and the dark circles under Severus' eyes. Some of that tension could be laid at Tom's feet, but he knew some of it had to do with severance of Severus' relationship with Hermione Granger. _Have I done the right thing in removing Miss Granger's influence?_ That the girl had breathed life back into Severus was without question, and yet he couldn't shake the idea that the girl was dangerous somehow. The crux of everything though, simply came down to the fact that he couldn't take the chance of any deviations from his decades-long plan. Too much rested on those plans, too much was at stake, and as always, Severus' participation was crucial.

Doubts plagued him when he saw Severus like this. He'd seen Miranda's new work with the probability matrix. He saw his own, still undisclosed, tampering in its swiftly shifting probabilities. Not that he considered it tampering, per se. It was nothing more or less than he'd been doing since the night Sybil Trawlaney had spoken the Potter prophecy. It wasn't as if his doubts were new. He'd had doubts the night he'd left Harry with the Dursleys and taken Severus's Oath. Those same doubts had arisen every year as he'd watched the boy grow up with a family that barely tolerated him at best and hated him at worse. He'd been so afraid that putting Harry with the Dursleys would simply be growing another Tom. But he'd allowed no second-guessing, because for all his doubts, there was still no other recourse he could see and no one else to make the decisions. No one wanted to make his choices. No one wanted to take the hard stand. No one wanted to send others into what amounted to certain death.

It had been a hard choice to leave Harry and boy had borne the brunt of his decisions. Yet, in the end, if he'd taken Harry and raised him himself or given him over to the Weasleys, Albus doubted Harry would have survived that first fateful encounter with Quirrell. The hard decisions had proven out and he'd been right once again. Harry had grown both strong and compassionate through his trials. And while some might say that young Harry was also made vulnerable and dependent, Albus knew that when the time came to face Tom, it would be the depravations Harry had grown up with, the very love he'd been denied most of his life and now most craved, that would see him through until the end.

Albus caught the fine trembling in Severus' hands as the other man stirred his cup of tea with careful, controlled movements. _Severus_. He was so like Harry in so many ways with neither one willing to see those similarities, only their differences. If Harry, tempered in the fire of his youth at Hogwarts, grew to adulthood with the same strength of character and will of Severus, then Albus would have few fears for the future of his world. But in the here and now, he ached sometimes for the things he asked both man and boy to do, but he couldn't take the chance that either would fail him.

"Severus?"

The spoon stirring the cup of tea slowed and came to a halt with a tiny _clink_ of metal against delicate porcelain. Putting aside the cup without ever taking a sip, Severus closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the chair. He spoke to the vaulted ceiling above them, his voice hollow and strained.

"I have known . . . _we_ have known," he amended, "that the Dark Lord has had other plans brewing. I have also known that my place at His side was the cause of considerable jealousy amongst my fellow Death Eaters. Tonight was the orchestration and ultimate show of fealty from Thorfinn Rowle, carried out under the full knowledge of the Dark Lord."

"The detainees?"

Severus briefly opened his eyes before closing them again. "Their purpose was as you suspected – a diversion for the public, a way to instill fear and compliance amongst the general population while leaving the impression that" – a sneer twisted Severus' lips – "the Ministry was actually doing something productive."

Albus nodded, although Severus couldn't see him. "After tonight the Wizarding World will give the Ministry anything they ask, with few, if any, questions or objections."

"I cannot tell you everyone who fell or survived. I'll need your pensive to sort through all the memories. That will provide a few more names, but. . ." Severus trailed off and then drew a ragged breath. "So many things were happening at once." Again his eyes opened briefly before drifting shut again. "Molly Weasley is dead. She fell but a few feet from me. I never saw Arthur so I suspect he lives. I do not know about Aberforth. Neither Tonks nor Kingsley was there as either Aurors or as detainees so their status is possibly still secured. Madame Bones is dead."

A full body shudder rippled its way down Severus' lean frame. Albus held his peace, well familiar with the internal battle Severus was fighting. Then, as Albus watched, a subtle transformation happened as the tight lines and underlying tension seemed to magically vanish from Severus' countenance. Abruptly straightening in his chair, Severus' eyes opened and stayed open. He reached for his cooling cup of tea with hands that no longer shook. "We will need to make plans now, tonight. They will move in the morning."

* * *

Hermione fought to breathe as the cold night air chilled her lungs. _They were all dead_. Those poor people. The Order members. _Mrs. Weasley_. What was she going to tell Ron and Ginny? _What about_ _Harry?_ The physical ache in her chest seemed to burst forth sending tendrils of pain radiating to all points of her body. She wanted nothing more than to curl up here in this quiet and frozen garden corner and sob her misery, but she couldn't. She had to tell the others. _Oh God, how am I suppose to tell them this?_ The enormity of the news she had to deliver overwhelmed her; emotions and thoughts tangling together in her head. She had no idea how long she crouched in the small abandoned courtyard trying to come up with a way to say the impossible. When she finally realized there was no good or easy way to say what she had to say, she stumbled up onto her frozen feet. With chattering teeth and fingers so numb they didn't want to work, Hermione pulled the invisibility cloak tighter around her. Concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, she headed back into the castle.

The walk through Hogwarts seemed to both last forever and be over with no time passing. She found herself in front of the portrait of the fat lady with no real recollection of how she'd got there. She stared at the portrait for a long moment, realizing that for the first time in all her years at the castle she couldn't remember the password. Letting the cloak slide down over her head to pool around her shoulders, she said the one thing that made sense to her. "I'm cold."

The fat lady, who'd been snoring in her chair, opened one eye at the noise and gave a startled shriek at the half there apparition standing before her.

Hermione shivered. "I'm cold," she repeated.

Painted eyebrows climbing up to her hair, the fat lady sat forward to peer more closely her. "That's not the password, dear. I'm afraid you'll need-" The painting cut off her words as a dun-coloured satyr from a painting in the main hall leapt into the frame to whisper furiously in her ear, all the while keeping a solemn gaze on Hermione.

"Oh . . . oh," the lady said, her own eyes widening in alarm as the whispers continued. When the satyr finished, the lady's usual jovial expression was pinched and pale. "Never mind the password, dear. I know you right enough. Come on."

"Thank you," Hermione said faintly as the door swung open.

Hermione made her way to the bottom of the stairs that wound up to the boy's side of the tower only to find herself pushing futilely against an invisible barrier. Tears of frustration spilled down her cheeks. She was so close. She just needed to get a little further. She spread one hand against the stone wall. "Please," she breathed. "Please let me pass."

More tears, this time of gratitude, slid down her face when the ward dropped, letting her pass. She climbed slowly, making her way to the same level that her own bedchamber was on, but once there, she came to a puzzled stop. Turning slowly she contemplated the closed doors lining the curving tower wall. She had no idea which door belonged to Ron and Harry's room.

"Psst!"

Hermione jerked at the unexpected noise and then relaxed when she caught sight of the satyr standing in a corner of another painting, this one showing two wrestlers who had paused in their battle to stare curiously out at her.

"Yer lookin' for yer friends?"

She nodded.

"Thought so. Third door down, missy."

"Thank you," she said, giving him a wan smile.

The satyr gave her a solemn nod and then jerked his head in the direction of the doors. "Go on with you."

Finding the correct door, she pushed it open. The sound of the door opening must have just been loud enough that Dean, who had the curtains drawn back on his bed, sat up with a sleepy, "Wha?"

Hermione took another step inside, her shoes scraping against the floor. At the noise, Dean's eyes lost their sleepy look and he was suddenly holding his wand, the tip sweeping back and forth across the shadowed room. "Who's there?" he shouted, almost immediately followed by, "Ron, Harry, Neville, wake up! There's someone in the room." Three sets of heads and wands poked out from behind their bed curtains.

Cursing Dean and his yelling under her breath, Hermione dropped the cloak from around her shoulders. "Shut up," she hissed. "Do you want to attract everyone's attention?" Dean's eyes shot open wide at Hermione's sudden appearance and vehement tone, but his mouth snapped shut with pleasing alacrity.

Harry ran a hand over his face, straightening the glasses that were sitting askew on his nose. "Hermione, what are you doing in here?"

"Think an every better question is _how_ did you get in here?" Ron asked in confusion and just the slightest hint of awe. "Even Fred and George were never able to break the charms that keep the guys on one side of the tower and the girls on the other."

"I . . ." she stopped, unable to say the words trapped in her throat.

It was Neville who broke the paralysis that held her. Climbing out of his bed he placed a hand gently on her back. "Hermione, you're freezing." The touch and the concern in his voice sent her to her knees.

"Hermione!"

Her collapse brought the others scrambling from their beds to crowd around her, their voices overlapping in urgency, questions she wasn't able to answer bombarding her and making her already spinning head ache. She felt gratitude flash through her when Harry's temper finally snapped. "Shut up! Everyone, just shut up!"

Mercifully, everything went quiet.

"Hermione, what are you doing here?" Harry's voice was gentle now, a kind of soft-voiced croon that you'd use with a stray animal whose temperament you weren't sure about. She had a fleeting thought that she ought to be offended but truthfully, all she felt was comforted by the low buzz of his voice.

She didn't quite have the courage to meet their eyes, afraid that if she did, she'd never get the words out. So hands clenched tight against everything she was feeling, Hermione started talking. It came haltingly, in fits and starts until with a hoarse whisper she gave the list of the dead. Only then did she lift her head and her eyes. She found four stark and horror-filled expressions staring back at her, tears running unashamedly down their faces. In the next moment, she was wrapped in Ron's arms, her head against his shoulder, his fingers clutching at her shirt.

She stayed that way for a long time simply clinging to the solid normality of Ron, but no matter how much she wished she could stay where she was, she knew she couldn't.

When she finally lifted her head from Ron's shoulder, it was Neville who met her eyes. His own were red-rimmed but steady and she was suddenly reminded that but for a whim of fate Neville could have been the Chosen to fight Voldemort. "We need to make plans," he said. "Tomorrow is going to be bad."

"What about Ginny?" Harry asked. "We need to . . ." His words trailing off, he looked over at Ron. "We need to tell her. Ron, you've got to tell her."

Ron blanched at Harry's words, all the more noticeable because of his colouring. He didn't say anything but nodded his agreement. Hermione stumbled up to her feet once more. "I'll get her and bring her down to the common room. I'll meet you there."

"Shouldn't we bring her up here?" Dean asked.

Hermione shook her head. "I don't think I can. I don't-" She shook her head again. Now was not the time to explain a semi-sentient castle. "Downstairs will be better."

Pushing herself back up to her feet, she left the boys and hurried back down the stairs and over to the girls rooms. She didn't bother sneaking into Ginny's room, but simply let herself in and shook the other girl. When Ginny blinked blurrily up at her, Hermione whispered, "Come with me." When the younger girl looked liked she was about to protest, Hermione whispered the command again. This time Ginny swung her legs over the side of the bed.

Grabbing her robe, Ginny followed Hermione without a word until they reached the stairs. Then the questions started. "Hermione, what is going on? Do you know what time it is? Where are we going? Are you going-" The younger girl's questions, and her forward motion, stopped when she stepped off the stairs and saw the small group of Harry, Ron, Dean, and Neville waiting for them. "What's going on, Ron?"

* * *

Telling Ginny that Molly Weasley was dead broke them all down again. But Hermione was happy to see that when Ginny turned to Harry, he enfolded her in his arms and held her while she cried. And when the tears were over, Ginny held tight to Harry's hand. The six of them talked long into the night about what to do and what not to do. They circled endless around the topic but found no answers as dawn lightened the windows. Harry wanted to literally, and figuratively, storm the castle. Ron counseled information gathering before they did anything.

Hermione sat mostly silent and let the others talk over and around her. Too much, too soon had happened over the last few days. Exhaustion, mental and physical, pulled at her and she just didn't have the energy to give any more. She gave answers when asked direct questions and nodded her head in what seemed the appropriate places but for the most part, for once in her life, she sat back and let others handle things.

In the end, tired and heart-sore, the six of them decided to do nothing. So they waited; waited on time to pass and the breakfast hour to roll around to see how the world had changed once again.

* * *

Walking into the Great Hall that morning was one of the hardest things Hermione had ever done. Crossing the threshold of the doors, she couldn't help but expect to be met with chaos. What she got was the normal cacophony of shouts and milling students that had greeted her every morning for the last seven years. It was disconcerting and jarred her sensibilities. She reached blindly back behind her and felt a strong hand grip her fingers and give a tight squeeze before releasing her. She wasn't even sure who had given her that reassurance, but she pulled in a deep breath and kept walking. As she made her way down the long table to her seat, her eyes went up to the high windows, searching for the owls that would be arriving soon with the _Daily Prophet_. Her gaze fell to Harry when he jostled her shoulder as he took the seat next to her.

"Dumbledore isn't here." Harry's voice was tight and held a desolate note that twisted the knot already sitting in the pit of her stomach. It took a second for the words to really penetrate the fog that surrounded her, but when it did her eyes snapped up to the front of the room. Dumbledore's ornate oak chair was pushed forward against the high table. No place setting graced the table in the headmaster's spot. Next to Professor Dumbledore's empty place, Professor McGonagall sat ramrod straight, her lips pressed together so hard that Hermione, even in her seat at the Gryffindor table, could feel the disapproval emanating from the Deputy Headmistress.

"Do you think Dumbledore's gone into hiding or do you think the Ministry pinched him?" Ron asked.

"Hiding," Harry guessed, "like he did when Umbridge tried to take over." Harry jerked his chin up at the head table. "Snape's still here.

"Did Dumbledore ever mention contingency plans to you, Harry?"

Harry shook his head, his expression bleak. "Nothing. Almost all of our talks have been about Voldemort or Tom Riddle before he became Voldemort. He never mentioned this."

Severus felt the weight of the day pull at him, fatigue making limbs and eyelids heavy as he made his way to the Great Hall for breakfast. There had been no rest last night. Too many existing plans had to be changed and far too many new plans had to be set in motion to let a minor thing like sleep get in the way. Sometime around three Minerva had been awakened and joined them in Severus' quarters. An hour or so before dawn, Vector had been roused from her warm bed as well. The plan they'd made had been rushed and less they fully fleshed out, but it was all they had.

He stopped in the shadowed doorway that led from the dungeons into Hall. The spot was gloomy enough that those within could not see him, yet gave him an unobstructed view. He scanned the tables, noting the habitual early risers. Probably half of the Ravenclaw table was present. The Hufflepuffs and Slytherins were sparsely populated, as usual for the hour. The Gryffindor table was sparely populated as well. It was a blessing at this point that Potter, Granger and Weasley were absent. It looked to be, thankfully, a normal Thursday morning. He'd been unaccountably afraid that the news of the massacre would have leaked and caused panic. A part of him had been braced to step into student chaos and hysteria, although it would come soon enough, he knew.

Squaring his shoulders, he settled his robes around him. A single breath and he swept into the room, scowling at the students assembled. He nodded to once to Minerva and settled in his chair, studiously avoiding looking at Dumbledore's empty chair. There would be panic. The trick would be to manage the ensuing bedlam and rescue Potter and his cohorts from what was sure to be a Ministry grab. Dawlish would make a point of going for Potter. Severus needed to make sure that didn't happen.

Severus made another scan of the Hall, searching for Dawlish and his stooges. None of them were in the Hall yet. But that was only a small blessing. His eyes swung back to the main doors just a mixed crowd of students elbowed and jostled their way inside. His eyes were drawn to one slim figure and head of wayward curls. Granger. _Hermione_. To his assessing gaze she looked pale and as tired as he felt. Potter looked mulish to Severus' eyes although if Severus was in a more charitable mood, he might say the boy looked both angry and determined. Weasley looked almost as pale as Hermione, his freckles standing out in stark contrast to his skin.

_They knew_. His fists clenched until he forcibly relaxed his hands, placing them flat against the cool wood of the trestle table. He had no idea how those three knew, but somehow they did. The question now was whether that foreknowledge would be a help or a hindrance. His eyes strayed back to Potter . . . hindrance then. Severus resigned himself to what would happen next. Even after everything that had happened the night before, a small part of him had held out hope. _I really should know better._

* * *

**Author's Note 2:** So, yeah, I know. A whole year. Feel free to yell.


	41. Ch 39: Maturity

**Author's Note 1: **Ha! And you doubting Thomas and Thomasina's thought it would be another year. And look at that, I posted before it rolled to 2011. There isn't a whole lot of Severus/Hermione interaction in this chapter but don't let that trouble you. Severus and Hermione will be all over the place in the next couple of chapters. I just need to give Harry that good kick in the pants that he so desperately needs.

**Author's Note 2:** Several eagle-eyed readers wondered where Seamus was since he shares a room with Ron, Harry, Neville and Dean. I've no excuse. Seamus slipped my mind entirely. However, in my defense, I like to think that he was in an alcove somewhere on the 5th floor with a nice Ravenclaw girl.

**Author's Note 3:** For one scene in this chapter, I had lyrics from Johnny Cash's "A Boy Named Sue" running through my head while writing - "Well, I hit him hard right between the eyes, and he went down, but to my surprise, he come up with a knife and cut off a piece of my ear. But I busted a chair right across his teeth and we crashed through the wall and into the street, kicking and a' gouging in the mud and the blood and the beer." You'll recognize the scene when you get to it.

As always, feel free to point out mistakes. I'll fix them.

* * *

**Chapter 39: Maturity**

A few minutes before the breakfast dishes were scheduled to appear, Severus watched as Dawlish swept into the Great Hall, his cohort of Aurors locked in step behind him, their boot heels ringing out against the flagstones. Severus sneered at the theatricality of it all. He'd found over the years that a gliding ghost step discomforted people far more than the sound of boots. Any idiot, after all, could stomp. Being caught unawares by someone with a silent footstep, he'd found, was far more terrifying.

The normal chatter of the students fell silent as the Aurors swept in. Dawlish was wearing a particularly pleased expression and gripping two sealed scrolls in one hand. Severus wasn't surprised at Dawlish's appearance. It confirmed what he and Albus had suspected would be the next move in the Dark Lord's power play. The threat of Hogwarts, and the Headmaster, had to be removed. This then, would be the way it was done. It was a simple plan and ruthlessly elegant as only a Slytherin could make it. After all, the Dark Lord wouldn't want any sort of pitched battle taking place and potentially damaging the school, especially since any fight on its grounds gave the advantage to the Headmaster and his allies.

He resisted the urge to glance down the table to Dumbledore's empty seat. That too was part of the plans concocted last light. Dawlish, and the Dark Lord, would be in for a surprise. He didn't need to look further to know that Minerva was sitting as proud and wrathful-looking as the war goddess she'd been named for. Really, the woman had no subtly.

Dawlish continued his parade until he stopped before the raised dais that housed the teacher's table. As the Auror's gaze swept down the table, Severus crossed his arms and sat back in his chair with a studied insolence that would have done any seventh year Gryffindor proud. Watching Dawlish's eyes narrow in annoyance, Severus cocked an eyebrow and watched with amusement as Dawlish's face flushed an angry red. He supposed he shouldn't taunt the man, but found that he couldn't help himself. Really, he was going to die, he might as well enjoy himself before he went out. His amusement was short lived though as Dawlish swung his attention to Minerva.

"Where is Dumbledore this morning?" the Auror demanded.

"_Headmaster_ Dumbledore was called away on urgent business this morning. Is there something I can do for you Auror Dawlish? Or can we continue with breakfast?"

Dawlish returned her sharp tone with a brittle smile. "I don't think your help will be necessary. I can handle things from here." He half turned and gave a sharp nod to the other Aurors on his team. They spread out across the front of the Hall as Dawlish climbed the short flight of stairs to the teacher's table, ignoring Minerva's sputtering outrage at his audacity.

A simple _Sonorous_ charm and Dawlish's voice was amplified to carry to the far reaches of the Hall. "You will provide your attention to the center of the room."

It was an unnecessary order in Severus' opinion. All eyes had already been on Dawlish from the moment he'd entered the room.

Dawlish flipped one scroll up and broke the Ministry seal, releasing the scroll's contained magic. With a sharp jerk, the scroll flew out of Dawlish's hand and went to hover some fifteen feet in the air. The voice of the Minister of Magic filled the room. "It is my sad duty to inform you that last night Death Eaters under the command of You-Know-Who attacked Azkaban Prison. It is the Ministry's opinion that this attack was a coordinated effort to free those You-Know-Who supporters that were being held in protective custody."

Besides her, Harry let out a soft mocking laugh. "Protective custody? Is that what they're calling it?"

A pointed "Shhh!" came from further down the table, from a boy Hermione knew had a sister that had been picked up and put in Azkaban. She hoped for his sake, and the sister's, that she wasn't one of the ones killed.

The disembodied voice of the Minister continued. "This unprecedented and unwarranted attack was perpetrated under the dead of night as an act of terror. Our brave Auror forces defended themselves and the prisoners to the best of their ability but there were multiple casualties when the Death Eater forces destroyed the western wall of Azkaban in an attempt to open a breach in the Ministry defenses. While Aurors and Azkaban guards sought to protect all the detainees, they were not in all cases successful as they were overrun with the forces of You-Know-Who."

Hermione heard the gasps and whispered questions around her as the other students began to realize just what the Minister was saying.

"The Ministry has identified the following names as those Aurors and detainees lost in the battle as Azkaban:

Astor, Nicodemus, Detainee  
Auberon, Atticus, Guard  
Blythe, Aurora, Auror  
Bright, Lucian, Auror  
Diggle, Dedalus, Detainee  
Diggory, Amos, Detainee"

"Cedic Diggory's father," Harry said in a pained whisper as the name was called. Hermione didn't know what to say so she simply nodded her head in recognition.

"Dumbledore, Aberforth, Detainee"

At the end of the teacher's table, Hagrid let out a great gasp as Aberforth Dumbledore's name was read. Hermione glanced up at Snape but his expression was cold and stony, letting nothing of his inner thoughts show through. But Hermione knew just how much this was hurting him. Last night he'd told the headmaster that he'd been uncertain as to Aberforth's fate. Now they knew for sure.

The names continued on, rolling out across the hall. As students and teachers heard the names of family members and friends called, the once silent room began to fill with cries of disbelief and despair.

"Fawcett, Imogen, Guard  
Featherstone, Peregrine, Detainee  
Featherstone, Seraphina, Detainee"

Beside Hermione, Harry flinched as Violet Featherstone, a sixth year Ravenclaw, leapt to her feet with a scream and ran from the room. A few seats down from them, Seamus rose to his feet with a muttered curse and hurried out after the fleeing Violet. Absently, Hermione wondered if Violet Featherstone was the reason that Seamus had been missing from the boy's room last night. She wondered only for a moment though as the rollcall of the dead continued.

"Fletcher, Mundungus, Detainee"

"Aw, Dung," Ron sighed. Hermione risked a glance at him and saw tears shimmering in his eyes. He knew what was coming and was just waiting. Beside him, Ginny was practically wrapped around one of his arms. Tears were already coursing down her face. Reaching across the table, Hermione took one of Ron's hands in hers and gave it a brief squeeze. On her other side, she reached for one of Harry's clenched fists. He resisted at first, but finally relented, threading his fingers through hers in a tight grip.

"Jasper, Evangeline, Detainee  
Jones, Hestia, Detainee  
Lazarus, Sebastian, Auror  
Moor, Drucilla, Detainee  
Moor, Lucretia, Detainee  
Noboro, Valentina, Detainee"

At the Hufflepuff table, a boy, second or third year by the looks of him, let out a short cry and slumped in his seat. Several of the other Hufflepuffs gathered around him whispering words of comfort and sympathy.

"Tittle, Sylvester, Auror  
Piers, Antonia, Detainee  
Piers, Cassius, Detainee  
Podmore, Sturgis, Detainee  
Vance, Emmeline, Detainee  
Weasley, Molly, Detainee"

The tears Hermione had been holding back spilled forth. She'd been holding to the slim hope that maybe Severus had been wrong, that he really hadn't seen Molly fall or that she'd only been hit with a stunning spell. "Oh Ron, Ginny, I'm so sorry."

"Welty, Eudora, Auror  
Woodland, Sylvanus, Detainee"

The litany of names came to a halt but it wasn't over. After a brief pause, the voice continued, "In the light of this vicious attack and the dire circumstances that the Wizarding world currently finds itself in, it is the Ministry's recommendation that Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry be closed effective immediately. Auror Dawlish as a Ministry representative holds Executive Order 1013 that officially closes the school. This morning Ministry owls were sent to the parents or guardians of all students. Any student that does not currently possess a parent or guardian deemed appropriate by the Ministry will be taken under the Guardianship of the Ministry."

Hermione felt a chill crawl down her back as Auror Dawlish sent a direct and decidedly hostile glare in Harry's direction at this last pronouncement.

"We are currently doing everything in our power to see to the protection of the Wizarding world and all her citizenry. Your cooperation in these matters is appreciated."

Stunned silence met the announcement. It was all too much to take in all at once. _Closing Hogwarts?_ The enormity of it all felt like a sucker punch, as if the news of the massacre at Azkaban wasn't enough.

As low mutters, interspersed with sobs and crying, started building around the Hall, Dawlish stomped his booted heel against the floor, the sound spreading out and silencing the room. Turning, he graced Professor McGongall with a smirk as he handed her the second scroll. "Executive Order 1013. I think you'll find that it's in order with all appropriate signatures and spell seals."

Turning back towards the students, he raised his hand to catch their attention. "We understand that it will take some time to gather up your belongings and be ready to depart. To that end, we will have Aurors and specially designated Ministry officials on-hand if you need any assistance. The carriages will be at the front gate immediately after breakfast Saturday morning. This provides the rest of today and tomorrow to pack your things. Please have your belongings ready to depart at the designated time." He made to step down from the dais and stopped. "Just so there are no surprises, and to assure you that the Ministry is taking the students' safety seriously, the anti-apparition wards are still in affect around Hogwarts and a cohort of Aurors is currently patrolling the grounds. I would not suggest that any student attempt to leave the grounds without permission."

Hermione looked up at the head table. The headmaster's empty chair was an obvious and gaping hole. Hagrid was openly weeping, blotting his eyes with a handkerchief the size of a small tablecloth. Almost all the professors wore expressions as equally shocked and dismayed as the students. Only Severus, Hermione noted, still seemed unmoved.

Dawlish paused again, his gaze sweeping across the room. "One last thing. Misters Potter, Tyrus and Menon and Miss Addamson, you will all be taken under the Guardianship of the Ministry at this time. Please go with the Aurors assigned to you. That is all," he said, stepping down from the dais as absolute chaos erupted with Professor McGonagall quick on his heels with the Executive Order scroll clasped in her hand.

Hermione heard Harry suck in a rattling breath between clenched teeth. "If he thinks I'm going-"

"Mr Potter?"

Both Harry and Hermione jumped as a beefy, florid-faced man with a thatch of blond curls stepped up behind them. In the chaos of the announcements, they'd not been paying attention to the Aurors that had been moving around the room. "I'm Auror Thorsen. If you will come with me, we can go over the paperwork and terms of the Ministry Guardianship." It was phrased as a polite request, it was anything but and everyone knew it.

"I'm not going with-"

"Harry!" Ginny spoke for the first time since they'd walked into breakfast, her voice hoarse from her tears. "Not now. Go with him. Please."

For a split second, Hermione thought Harry was going to fight, but abruptly his shoulders sagged. He gave Ginny and the others a nod and turned towards the Auror. "I'm ready." His tone was less than civil but the Auror didn't seem to care.

As the rest watched Harry walk away, Hermione glanced back up at the table in time to see Snape's gaze on Harry's retreating back. His eyes were narrowed in concentration and abruptly Hermione breathed a little easier. The fight wasn't over yet, and Hermione would lay money on Severus Snape's cunning Slytherin mind before she'd bet on Dawlish. But as the noise in the Hall grew, Snape's expression changed as she watched, going from calculated to something like true annoyance. "Enough!" he roared, jerking upright to his feet. Everyone's eyes turned towards him, many students swiftly taking the seats they had vacated.

"I think it is fairly obvious that classes will not be held today. Mr Weasley, Miss Abbott, gather together your prefects and see that all students are returned to their appropriate common rooms. Carry on as if you were doing nighttime patrol rounds. Now is not the time for any student to be out wandering the hallways." When no one moved, Snape snapped, "Now!" The room erupted, students scattering in a hundred directions at once.

Hermione quickly lost track of Ron and Ginny in the melee and soon found herself surrounded by a mixed group of wide-eyed, and obviously shell-shocked, first-years. She couldn't say that she blamed them. "Okay, let's see what we can do about getting you to your Prefects. They'll take care of you and make sure you all get to your Common Rooms."

Her back was turned when she caught the faint smell of herbs that she always associated with Severus. "Keep Potter close and within the walls of Gryffindor Tower." The unexpected words were directly behind her and said in less than a whisper. She would have thought she imagined it but for the heavy sweep of robes brushing the backs of her legs. Hermione spun around but Severus was already past her speaking with Madam Hooch, his eyes a flat black and his expression severe.

Burying her own turmoil for the moment, and eager to get back to her common room, Hermione pulled practicality around her like a robe and herded her charges together.

* * *

By the time she had the younger students sorted out and herself back to Gryffindor Tower, the others, except for Harry, where waiting for her in one corner of the common room. Seamus had joined them this time and as she walked up she could hear Dean giving Seamus a short version of last night's events and discussions, with an occasional clarification from Neville. Ginny was sitting on the arm of Ron's chair and both their eyes were red-rimmed. Ginny's lashes were still spiky with the tears she'd been crying.

Hermione was tired. They were all tired, but no one wanted to leave to go up to their rooms until Harry returned.

"Hermione," Ron greeted her with a nod. She gave him a subdued smile in return with a nod to Ginny and the others. Leaving the remaining chair for Harry, Hermione grabbed an oversized floor pillow and propped it up against Neville's chair. Dropping down, she let out a sigh that seems to come up from her toes. Neville nudged her with his knee at the noise. She nudged back and settled deeper into the cushion.

As the others talked in quiet tones, Hermione let their conversation wash over her, falling into a sort of waking doze, her mind drifting from one thought to another. There was something there - something that was important about the duties of the Headmaster was teasing at her. She was jerked to consciousness as Harry stormed into the room, his anger an almost tangible aura around him that pinged and sizzled against her magical senses.

"Harry!"

"Those bastards," were the first words out of Harry's mouth.

Ron gestured to the empty seat. "We saved you a seat. Come tell us what they've done."

Harry flung himself into the empty chair and then was almost immediately up out of it again, his agitation leading him to pace in front of the small group. "After the Viking escorted me out of the Hall, Dawlish met us in one of the smaller rooms. I'm to be transported to the Ministry where my case will be personally overseen by Mr. Dollart himself while they work out my custody. Ooooh, I'm supposed to be so impressed."

As Harry's continued to pace and gesture, working himself into a full blown fury, Hermione saw Ron nudge Ginny on her perch. As Harry whirled past, Ginny snagged one of his arms. "Come here. Sit and tell us what else they said."

As Harry sat, Ginny moved fluidly from Ron's chair over to Harry's, wrapping one hand around his back and leaning again his shoulder. Hermione noticed with satisfaction, and no small amount of sorrow, that Harry took a deep breath at the contact and seemed to calm almost immediately. There was no doubt that Ginny was Harry's touchstone, his anchor.

"They've decided that sending me back to the Dursleys is out of the question since they are but mere Muggles and knowing my importance to the future of the Wizarding world, my safety is of all importance."

Hermione perked up. "Your importance?"

Harry made a face. "They know about the prophecy. Snape probably told Voldemort. That prat Dawlish was carrying on about how the Ministry was going to set up guards and get me Auror training and assign me special advisors that -" Harry pitched his voice in a passable imitation of Dawlish - "'can set out and plan the best possible strike against You-Know-Who.'" Harry snorted in derision. "As if Voldemort wasn't running the bloody Ministry."

"It's a brilliant move though," Ron said. "It puts you under You-Know-Who's control and gives the Ministry a nice symbol to wave around - 'See Harry Potter. We're training him up to face the Death Eaters on your behalf. Give him another ten years and he'll be ready to take the fight to You-Know-Who.' In the meantime, the Wizard world is under You-Know-Who's control the entire time."

"Well, I'm not going to go along with it. I'm not going to let me them take me."

"I don't think it will come to that," Ron said. His eyes flicked over to Seamus, Dean and Neville before he added with circumspect care, "You've got friends, Harry. It doesn't serve Dumbledore's plan if you are locked up under Ministry control. He'll have a way of getting you out of Hogwarts."

"And if he can't? Then what?" Harry shot back.

"Then we go to plan B."

Neville laughed. "We have a plan B?"

Ron gave him a fierce grin in return. "There is always a plan B."

"So what's ours?" Dean asked.

Ron shrugged a shoulder. "I'd say Dumbledore's Army and the communication galleons. The Ministry doesn't know about the coins. So if they do take Harry, he can use his to communicate with the rest of us."

Harry caught Hermione's gaze. "Can you make more coins?"

She nodded. "It'll be tomorrow afternoon before I can get them finished, but it shouldn't be a problem to make enough for everyone and get this distributed before we have to leave."

"Everyone?" Dean asked. "As in _everyone_?"

Harry's face set. "Not everyone, just the Gryffindors."

Neville beat Hermione to the objection. "I think that's a mistake. We may need everyone, and Worth and the other Slytherins that joined, they could be helpful."

Harry wasn't buying it. "They could be spies."

Neville shrugged. "It's a risk, but worth it, I think."

Harry thumped a fist down on the arm of the chair. "Well, it's not happening. We stick to our House."

Hermione caught Neville's eyes and gave a small shake of her head. Now wasn't the time to get into a argument with Harry. Neville let the subject go but his expression was thoughtful.

Idly Hermione wondered what Hogwarts and the elves would do without the Headmaster. She'd have to talk to Rink, and maybe Lonnie, before they were all sent home. With the thought of Lonny, the thoughts she'd had about the headmaster clicked together.

"They knew," she blurted out.

"Knew what?" Harry's voice was sharp.

She waved a hand in the direction of the Great Hall. "The Headmaster. Professor Snape. Probably Professor McGonagall too. They knew the Ministry was going to close the school. Or, at least, they suspected."

Neville was looking at her, his face screwed up in a doubtful expression. "Hermione, it's not that I think you're wrong, because you're normally right about these things, but how do you get from here to there?"

"It's the same thing he did when Umbridge was at the school and for pretty much the same reasons. According to _Hogwarts: A History_ the only way that a current Headmaster or Mistress can be removed from their post once their oaths are sealed to the castle is by death, voluntarily stepping down, or if they break their oaths."

"You think Dumbledore's dead?" Harry asked.

Ron shook his head. "No way. Dumbledore's too smart and way too canny to be taken by the Ministry. I think he's gone to ground, like before."

"But doesn't dead make more sense?" Harry persisted. "Doesn't it make more sense that Voldemort's moving on Hogwarts because Dumbledore's dead?"

"We don't know," Ron sighed and ran the heel of his hand across one of his eyes. "Truthfully, this could have been as much of a trap for the Headmaster as it is for you, Harry."

"So what do we do now?"

"We make the communication coins. We pack up our things. We wait."

* * *

"Keep it safe," Hermione said as she gave the last Gryffindor their communication galleon. "And be careful with it."

The fourth year Gryffindor, Silas Mariner, gave Hermione a quick grin before reaching out to shake Harry's hand with an earnestness that made Hermione want to roll her eyes. It's no wonder Severus had no patience for Gryffindors. "I'll be real careful with the galleon, Potter. You can count on me. You send a message and I'll come running."

Harry was just as earnest in his response. "Thanks, Mariner. It's good to know that Gryffindor has my back."

This time Hermione did discreetly roll her eyes and then promptly wondered when she'd become so jaded. Pushing that thought to the back of her mind for contemplation later, she headed over to the corner of the room that the seven of them had taken over as their impromptu headquarters. Only Dean and Ginny were sitting there now. Neville, Seamus and Ron were all upstairs finishing up their packing. Dean gave her a grin as she plopped down into one of the chairs. "That the last of them?"

Hermione nodded. "Last of the Gryffindors anyway."

"Did Neville convinced Harry to include the others?" Ginny asked.

"Yes, sometime last night. But only the Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs. He still doesn't want Agnes or the other Slytherins involved."

"You still think it's a mistake."

Hermione watched Ron come down the stairs and head over to speak softly to Harry as she answered. "I do. Exclusion is what got us into this mess. Inclusion is the way out. Even the Sorting Hat made that plain this year."

Ginny shot her a sympathetic look before tilting her head in Harry's direction. "I don't think he's going to change his mind."

The body language between Ron and Harry began to get more stilted and Ron's face began to flush with a noticeable pink. She braced herself for the coming storm, whatever it was this time. "No, I don't think so either," she said absently. Of course, Hermione had made additional coins for the Slytherins anyway. Harry Potter approval or not, they were being included.

"At least the other Houses will-"

"Damn it, Ron," Harry exploded from other side of the room, his voice carrying easily in the sudden silence. "I'm not going through this with you again."

_Ah, it was __**that**__ argument._ For a split second she wondered if it would be possible to slip Harry a Dreamless Sleep and just be done with it until time to leave tomorrow morning, then gave herself a mental slap for that uncharitable thought.

"Would you just listen to me, Harry? This is stupid. It's beyond stupid. We know the Aurors want to grab you. It's better that you stay in Gryffindor Tower. Hermione and I can deliver the rest of the coins to the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff DA members."

"No. I'm not going to hide in here. I'm not afraid of them."

"It's not a question of being afraid. Harry-"

Harry pushed past Ron towards the portrait door as Hermione went to her feet. "Harry, wait!"

"No, I'm tired of talking about this," Harry yelled as he went out the door.

_Severus is going to kill me_, Hermione thought. _I really should have made a batch of Dreamless Sleep_.

Ron was staring at the door like he expected Harry to stick his head back in and then exclaim, "Just kidding!" He gave Hermione an exasperated look. "I swear, Hermione, sometimes I just want to . . . to . . ."

"I know." She punched him lightly in the arm. "Come on, let's go get him before he gets himself shanghaied. Neville? Ginny?"

Both of them got to their feet. "We'll come."

Ron shot them both grateful smiles. "Thanks, mate. Gin. Grab a cape. It's cold out and we don't know where Harry's going first."

* * *

Ron found Harry first while Hermione was still on the far side of the lawn but the two were easy to spot as Ron's red hair stood out starkly against the grey sky and the muddy, churned up ground. She wasn't sure how exactly the argument started, as from her distance she couldn't tell what was said between the two of them, but she knew the moment it turned ugly.

"I decide how we're going to handle this!" Harry's shout carried through the cold air, drawing the attention of the other students lingering in the yard.

Hermione took off running towards her friends. She arrived just as Neville, surprisingly enough, was the one that answered. "Forgive me, Harry, but who said you were in charge?"

Harry's face went white, and then flooded with color. "Because Voldemort chose me," he ground out.

_That did it_, Hermione thought. _The shite has hit the fan. He's used the V-word and used it loudly_. She chanced a look around and realized that their little shouting match had drawn a considerable knot of curious students. "Can we not do this now?" It was a hopeless request but she had to ask.

It was Ron that answered Harry's challenge, completely ignoring her. "That's right, Harry. He did. Voldemort chose you, the Great Harry Potter, which means you have to fight him. All because of some bloody stupid prophecy."

_Great. Now we throw out the P-word_. Hermione glanced around again at the gathered students, noting those that were following the argument with great interest. She threw up mental hands in absolute disgust. "Do either of you have a concept of secrecy?" But for all they were listening to her, she might as well have been talking to the air as Ron kept talking, his voice getting louder with every word.

"But I got to say, Harry, nowhere in the prophecy does it say that you get to be the boss or make all the decisions."

Harry was practically vibrating in place, his face suffused with rage. Sweeping one hand up his forehead, he exposed the lightning bolt scar on his forehead. "This gives me the right."

Ron laughed in derision. "Having Voldemort in your head is probably the FIRST, the BEST, and ONLY reason anyone needs for you to NOT be in charge. Truth is, you've been a lousy leader so far – snapping and snarling at everyone this year, throwing temper tantrums, taking a run at Worth and the few Slytherins that _want_ to join us." Ron's voice dropped slightly, "The complete cock up at the Ministry."

Harry visibly flinched, but Ron continued remorselessly on. "When it comes to fighting Voldemort Harry, I'm with you one hundred percent. I will be there, by your side, wand out and fighting. But the truth of deciding what our plans are, how we go forward, what we do and how we do it, is NOT just up to you."

"I'm the one that has to fight and kill him, not you. You don't understand," Harry yelled. Spinning around he headed back towards the castle. "I'm done talking about this."

Ron's head lowered, tension rolling off him as Harry turned his back and walked away. His right hand twitched but Ron didn't palm his wand. Ron's neck and ears turned crimson as anger almost visibly roared through him, several people in the gathered crowd stepped backwards.

"Ron-" Hermione began, suddenly afraid that Ron was going to throw a hex at Harry's back. But Ron never palmed his wand. With a deep-throated growl worthy of Fang, Ron took a few running steps and tackled Harry. The two went down into the muddy grass in a flurry of arms, legs and robes.

Harry was quick but Ron was both taller and had more mass on Harry. After a few confusing minutes of rolling and pummeling, Ron pinned Harry into the mud. Grabbing hold of his shoulders, Ron lifted Harry and slammed him back into the ground, mud and leaves splashing up around them. "I don't understand? I don't understand?" he screamed down into Harry's tense face. "My mother is dead fighting Voldemort. For all I know he cast the spell that killed her. My brothers are missing. My father is still locked up. My sister and I are being sent to live with our Great Aunt BECAUSE THERE IS NO ONE ELSE LEFT IN OUR FAMILY! And you know what Harry Potter, I'm still going to fight Voldemort with you. Not because Voldemort chose you. Not because I have to. I fight because you are my friend AND BECAUSE YOU ARE NOT IN THIS ALONE. Do you understand me?"

Harry didn't answer but twisted sharply, his elbow coming up into Ron's ribs. They both went over again into the mud, legs kicking clods of dirt into the ring of students.

Hermione started forward, intent on separating her friends, only to come to a halt when Neville laid a restraining hand on her shoulder.

"Let them go."

Hermione have a quick glance up at Neville's grim face before focusing her attention back on the two idiots in the mud. "But-"

"It's been building for a while. I think they need this."

Hermione glanced around at the knot of students gathered around them and shifted nervously. Across the circle she spotted Agnes elbowing Colin in the side, making sure he was getting plenty of pictures, and offering suggestions on good camera angles.

"Neville, are you sure about this?"

"Yeah," he answered, right as Hermione heard someone behind her, Crabbe she thought, call out, "Crown on the Weasel King."

Another student laughed. "Maybe if Potter was fighting the Weaselette. Two Crowns on Potter."

Hermione dropped her head into her hands and tried very hard to ignore the shouts of the students along with the cursing, grunting and yelling coming from her two best friends. _Where's a bloody teacher or an Auror when you need one?_

A moment later, she felt someone push against her leg. Opening her eyes, she spotted Professor Flitwick, wand out and glaring. "Enough!" he roared, his normally high pitched voice suddenly commanding. It stilled the shouts of the crowd. Mostly in surprise, Hermione thought, not realizing that such a sound could come from the diminutive Charms teacher. A flick of his wand and a non-verbal spell cast at the two combatants had Ron and Harry being flung apart from each other. Harry rolled as he hit the ground, crashing into the far ring of students.

"What is the meaning of this? Do we not have enough trouble as it is? Mr Weasley, get up off the ground. Fifty points from your House. Mr Potter-" Flitwick turned where Harry had rolled but Harry was not there.

"Shite," Hermione muttered. "Shite, shite, shite."

Harry was gone.

* * *

Harry limped into the classroom and pushed the door closed behind him. There was no dust or cobwebs to indicate that the room was unused, mostly because Harry knew the Hogwarts house-elves would never tolerate dirt in the castle, but the room held a lonely, forgotten air to it that appealed to Harry at the moment. It was, he decided with a feeling of relief, the perfect place to hide for a while. He was angry and confused. Didn't Ron realize that he was doing the best that he could? He didn't always know what he was supposed to do or where to turn. Every time he thought he knew what do or what to think, everything changed. And he was so tired. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept the night through or a time when he didn't feel angry.

They were closing Hogwarts, the one place where he felt safe, the place everything made sense, even when it didn't. Dropping to the floor with a pained grunt, he sat back against the wall. When he'd slipped away from the fight, he'd vanished the mud but he was still damp and bruised. Pulling his legs up, he rested his head against his knees and fought to breathe.

The Ministry had somehow got wind of the Prophecy and he'd been _informed_ by Auror Dawlish that he would be taken to the Ministry for his own protection.

The scene in the Great hall replayed on an endless loop behind his closed eyes. Auror Dawlish striding into the Hall like he owned the castle. The cries of grief and outrage that had rung out as the Minister of Magic announced what was already being called The Battle of Azkaban. The callously read list of the dead, the names called out with total indifference to the suffering of the students.

Harry had caught Snape's eyes during that horrible recitation and he'd known. Snape had been at Azkaban. Rage had burned through him then, just as it did now causing his fists to clench spasmodically against his thighs. Harry couldn't help but wonder if Snape had been the one to kill Molly Weasley.

It was all his fault. All those deaths were his fault because Voldemort wanted him. Molly Weasley was dead because of him. He thought he was doing what was right. Reaching into an inner pocket of his robe he pulled out the small book on Unforgivables and tossed it between his feet. He'd been studying and practicing. Wasn't that enough?

"What am I suppose to do now?" he moaned, the sound forcing its way past clenched teeth.

* * *

Hermione paced and yelled. Mostly she yelled. "Of all the stupid, hare-brained, numb-skulled, dunderheaded, stupid-"

"You used that one already," Neville offered helpfully from his corner chair.

Ron scowled at him before quickly returning his expression to something woeful and contrite.

"It bears repeating," Hermione growled out. "We are surrounded by Aurors. The Headmaster is missing. Harry is a target. The last thing he needs is more attention. And what do you two great bloody idiots do? You engage in a fist-fight. You mention the prophecy. You mention Voldemort. Keep Harry in the Tower, he said. How bloody hard could that be. But no. Now Harry is missing. Do you-"

Ron, cringing down into his chair, let out a sigh of relief as Hermione's tirade abruptly cut off. Opening his eyes, he looked to see what had saved him and was surprised to see a house-elf bowing before Hermione.

"Larra, isn't it?" Hermione asked.

The house-elf bobbed another shallow bow. "Yes, Miss. Miss is to come. Lonnie needs Miss."

Hermione turned back towards Ron. "Do not leave the tower." Her eyes cut over to a still grinning Neville. "Any of you.

Turning back to Larra, she gave the elf a calm smile and held out one of her hands. "I'm ready."

Larra took hold of her hand and they were gone in the next second.

Ron turned to Neville. "She was sparking blue." Ron's expression turned both sad and wistful. "It was almost like being yelled at by mum again."

When Hermione reappeared, she expected to be in the Hogwarts kitchen where Lonny reigned supreme. She was extremely surprised to find herself standing next to Lonny enclosed in some sort of low ceilinged stone room. Larra had disappeared and Hermione was alone with the Hogwarts Matriarch. Hermione gave a short bow to Lonnie, raising her hands up like ears and folding them over in the house-elf gesture of respect.

Beside her nodded. "Rink said Miss was learning."

Hermione straightened up and dropped her hands. "I try," she said, "but I can't always replicate some of the more subtle gestures."

"It is enough that Miss learns."

"Thank you. Larra said you wanted to see me."

Lonny gestured to the grillwork cut into the stone. "Look."

Hermione stepped forward and peered out through the stonework. The space they were in ran the length of a room that Hermione had never seen before. A long wooden table set with two dozen or so empty chairs dominated the room. It was spare and functional. It's only hint comfort, the deep burgundy rug that ran under the table. Currently only Professor McGonagall and Auror Dawlish were in the room. Their conversation carried easily up to Hermione. And and she realized that the room she was in was a listening and viewing gallery for spectators for meetings that would take place below.

Auror Dawlish was talking, his tone of voice hard and uncompromising. "I want to know where Harry Potter is."

"And I'm telling you that I do not know where Mr Potter currently is located."

"I find that hard to believe, Deputy Headmistress."

Professor McGonagall made a noise that sounded to Hermione suspiciously like a growl. "I am not now, nor have I been hiding Mr Potter. Your Aurors are searching the school and its grounds just like my available teachers. I do not have any more information than you have."

"Then perhaps you'd like to tell me why the tracking charm on Mr Potter's wand isn't working?"

Hermione smirked. _Go me!_ she thought. She'd have to remember to thank Professor Flitwick for that book on linking charms. Decoupling the Ministry tracking charm from their wands was definitely some of her better work.

Hermione pulled back from the screen when she felt Lonnie touch her arm. Squatting down, she put herself on a more even height with the house-elf. "They want to know where Harry is."

Lonny curled an ear in agreement. "House-elves do not involve themselves in the affairs of wizards. We serve only. The School Master is not here. We can not ask who we serve first. Hermione is Miss, but Hermione is Hermy. Rink has taught well."

"You are asking my advice on what to do?"

Again, Lonny's ear curled in agreement.

Hermione thought on that a moment. "You know where Harry is. Of course, you know. You know everything going on in the castle. And the Aurors want to know where he is. You can serve by helping them."

"Yes." Lonny's head tilted slightly as if the old elf was listening to something. "Master of Potions will find boy soon."

Hermione sagged slightly in relief. "Oh, good. But that doesn't help you with the Aurors or the fact that the Headmaster isn't here."

Lonny didn't answer but simply waited.

Hermione scrubbed her hands up through her hair and tugged. Her first instinct was to tell Lonny to have the elves go on an armed insurrection against the Aurors and the Ministry, but Lonny was asking for her advice on not what was best for Hermione and her friends, but what was best for the house-elves. She didn't feel right abusing the trust and honor that she'd just been given. _Bloody hell! Not the time to think like a Gryffindor. Think twisty like a Slytherin_. Slowly she raised her head up, fingers still twisted into her hair. "You are bound to Hogwarts?"

"Yes."

"The headmaster as Head of the House is just ceremonial since headmasters change?"

"Yes."

Hermione felt her lips begin to curl upwards. "So, if you serve Hogwarts, you serve the headmaster, the teachers, and the students first?"

"Yes."

Hermione's smile widened. "Harry comes first," she emphasized. "He's a student. The Aurors are visitors. They've upset the students. You serve the students. You serve Hogwarts."

Lonny gave her a short bow. "Hogwart house-elves serve Hogwarts."

With that, Lonny disappeared, leaving Hermione blinking at empty air and wondering just what exactly she'd set in motion. "Damn it," she muttered. Having no idea where she was in the castle meant that it would take a while to get back to Gryffindor's common room. Spying a low door at the far end of the gallery, she set out.

* * *

Severus swept through the halls, anger bubbling hotly just below the surface of his thoughts. Potter had slipped away from the fight with Weasley when Flitwick's back was turned. He'd been gone for at least two hours and the Ministry Aurors were even now searching the grounds and castle for the boy. The boy was nowhere to found and they didn't have time for this nonsense. If they found Potter first, everything would be lost.

_Could the boy not do anything he was told? Go to your rooms. Stay there until your House is called. How bloody hard was that? But no-_

As Severus hurried down a hallway with several abandoned classrooms, he heard a faint noise, something that sounded suspiciously like a sob. _There!_

Forgoing stealth for expediency, Severus burst into the room at the far end of the hallway. Potter sat on the ground, a small book resting on the floor between his feet. Severus sucked in his breath at the sight of the book. It was one of the Primers that Durmstrang used to teach about the Unforgivables. It was a book that Albus would have never allowed within the walls of Hogwarts. It was a book that Severus remembered well as it was the primer that he himself had used when he'd begun his own dabbling in things best left alone. He reacted instinctively at the sight of the book, his wand dropping into his hand.

"Inferno." Fire shot from the end of his wand, the magical flames blue-white in their intensity. The book caught immediately, the binding curling backwards from the heat and exposing the inside pages to the flames. "Potter." Severus couldn't help the way he snarled the boy's name.

Potter yelped as the small bonfire appeared between his feet. Rolling he leapt to his feet, his own wand dropping down in his hand.

"Aurors are even now searching for you and sit with a banned book between your feet. Have you any brains?" Severus snapped. "Come with me now before they discover you."

"I'm not going anywhere with you."

Severus arched a brow. "So happy to go with the Aurors then? Because that is your only other choice."

Potter's eyes were wild. "It's a trap. You're working with them. You're working for Devrom Dollart." Potter let out a harsh laugh. "As if we don't all know that's Voldemort."

"Idiot," Severus snarled, his already frayed temper snapping another few strands of restraint. "Don't say his name in my presence. Have you learned nothing?"

"I've learned enough," Potter shot back. "I know you work for whichever side makes you the best offer. What have you done with the Headmaster? Did you sell him out too when you murdered Molly Weasley? Where's Dumbledore?"

"I. Did. Not. Kill. Molly. Weasley." Severus growled between clenched teeth. "As for the Headmaster, I do not know where he is, nor do I care. And if I did, it certainly wouldn't be any of your business, Potter. Now stop this immediately and come with me. We don't have time for your stupidity and foolishness."

"You've done something to him," Harry raged. "I know you have. You, you're working for Voldemort. You've always been working for him. You've done something to him. Killed him. He wouldn't leave me. Not now. Not when I need him."

Severus flinched at the Dark Lord's name being so casually thrown about again. He'd never felt more like throttling the insufferable boy than at this moment knowing that nothing he said now would get through to Potter who was completely convinced of his own righteousness. _Then again, maybe that was the way to get to him._

Severus took a calculated step backwards and was rewarded as Potter took a countering step forward. _Yes, get him out of the open space of the classroom and into the hallway where I can control the fight._ He let one corner of his mouth tip upwards a smirk guaranteed to make the boy's temper boil.

"Fine, Mr Potter. You want to know where Dumbledore is. He's dead. I killed him. I wrenched his wand from his hand and while he begged me for his life, I struck him down."

"N-Noo. You couldn't-"

"I did."

Harry was panicking, Severus could see it in his face as the fear and rage swirled together. _That's right, you insufferable little snot. Think that I'm trying to capture you, maybe even kill you . . . just like I've killed Dumbledore_. Severus' eyes narrowing down to slits. It was dangerous goading Potter, but an angry Potter made mistakes. An angry Potter forgot his lessons. He stepped backwards out into the hallway drawing Potter along with him. "Enough of this, Potter." He raised his wand but Potter was ready.

Brandishing his own wand, Potter pointed it at Severus. "Expelliamous."

Snape countered with a wave of his own wand, the counter spell unheard.

"Should have been paying more attention in class, Potter."

Twenty yards apart, the two stared at each other before raising their wands simultaneously.

"Cruc —"

But Snape parried the curse, knocking Harry backward off his feet before he could complete it; Potter rolled, his shoulder hitting the wall hard. He scrambled back up to his feet again as Severus took a step closer.

"Cruc —" yelled Harry for the second time, but Severus blocked the spell again.

Severus sneered. Hermione had been correct. The boy had been doing more than just reading that blasted book, he'd been playing with the Unforgivables. "No Unforgivable Curses from you, Potter! Have you learned nothing?"

"Incarc —" Potter roared, but Severus deflected the spell with an almost lazy flick of his arm and took another step closer.

"Fight back!" Harry screamed at him, lost in the rage that pulsed like wildfire in veins. "Fight back, you cowardly —"

"Coward, did you call me, Potter?" shouted Severus, his own rage rising. "Your father would never attack me unless it was four on one, what would you call him, I wonder?"

"Stupe —"

"Blocked again and again and again until you learn to keep your mouth shut and your mind closed, Potter!" sneered Severus, deflecting the curse once more. "Now come with me!" he shouted. "It is time to be gone, before the Ministry turns up —"

"Impedi —"

Again he blocked, the force sending Potter down onto the hard stone floor of the hallway. The boy uttered an inarticulate yell of rage as his wand flew from his wand. Pushing himself to his feet again, Potter dived for his wand. Severus shot a hex at it and it flew out of sight into the shadows of the corridor.

"Kill me then," panted Harry, rage and contempt twisting his features into an ugly mask. "Kill me you coward."

"DON'T—" screamed Severus, his face suddenly hot with his own fury — "CALL ME A COWARD!" Severus slashed at the air some of his own rage leaking into the spell. Harry jerked once as the spell, a white-hot, whip of power hit him across the face and he was slammed backwards down the hall.

_Damn it all to hell_, Severus raged, tightening down on his own volatile anger, as he watched Potter slide across the flagstones of the floor. He'd not meant to hit the boy with that much power. He needed to end this now before he lost his own control.

As Potter raised himself painfully up onto all fours, he shook his head. Senses obviously swimming from the last contact with the hard stone, Potter blinked before something like triumph flashed across his face. The boy's wand rested against the wall just a few feet from his outstretching fingers. Flinging himself forward in one last ditch effort, Potter scrabbled for his wand. As his fingers closed around the slim piece of wood, he rolled to his back and caught Severus advancing on him until he was mere feet away. Severus was no longer sneering or jeering. His faced showed only a stark determination that widened Potter's eyes.

Mustering all his remaining energy, Potter raised his wand. A commotion behind Harry distracted him for a moment and the wand tip wavered.

_Idiot_, Severus thought.

And even as Severus watched the despair that had flooded Potter's face at what he surely must have thought were Ministry or Death Eater reinforcements, turned to elation as Tonk's distinctive voice yelled, "_Petrificus Totalis_." Potter had just enough time to grin, probably expecting to see Severus fall. He was still grinning as the spell slammed into his side.

The last thing Potter saw as he fell was Severus' smirk return.

Tonks ran the last few feet down the corridor until she reached Severus' side. "Do I want to know why Harry was pointing a wand at you, Snape?"

Severus smoothly sheathed his own wand. "Because my life is a farce."

Orienting himself in the corridor, Severus pursed his lips in thought. "Gather Potter up and follow me. There is a secret passageway further up this tunnel. It will take you out of the castle."

Tonks wasted no time in casting a "_Mobilicorpus_" and following. "Wot about you?"

Severus hurried on, time was not on their side. "I need to remain. Dawlish is a stooge, but still a danger. If I were to disappear as well as Potter, Dawlish would focus attention on things that neither the Dark Lord nor the Order wish to be revealed.

"Ah, here." Severus made a complicated motion with his wand before a large grimy portrait, its surface so dark with age and dirt that the picture could no longer be discerned, although faint screams and moans could be heard coming from the frame. A moment later, the picture swung wide revealing a stone lined, low-ceiling passageway. "Take this. Take the third branching tunnel you come to. After that, stay true. Do not take any of the side corridors."

Tonks peered somewhat dubiously into the tunnel depths. "Where does it come out?"

"Half way around the lake, where Hagrid winters the first year boats. The lake is probably being patrolled." He cast a sardonic eye at Tonks. "You will need to be _quiet_ as you exit."

Tonks flashed him an impudent grin. "No problem, Snape. See you on the other side."

As Tonks disappeared, Severus swung the portrait closed. "Merlin preserve us." Taking a moment, he savored the quiet of the dungeon corridor. Hermione would be leaving soon on the train with the Weasley boy and girl. A few Order members would pick them up at Kings Cross. Potter was as safe as he could be at the moment. He'd done what Albus had asked of him once again.

Turning on his heel, Severus headed down another passageway, heading deeper into the bowels of the castle until he came across a little used side passage that led to his own suite of rooms.

Only within the walls of his own heavily warded quarters did he finally relax. There was still much that had to be done before he could leave the castle and no doubt Dawlish would want to question him again. Summoning a travel bag, he quickly filled it with a few simple changes of clothing, his spare reading glasses, the current novel he was reading, and his own specially devised travelling potions kit. When he was done, the bag was barely half full. Looking around the quarters that had been his for most of his life, he found there was little that needed to be taken with him. He had no great material wealth, nor family heirlooms. He laughed softly at himself. He had no heir to bequeath the non-existent family heirlooms too.

Truthfully, he'd never much thought beyond the re-emergence of the Dark Lord and the day when Potter would fulfill his destiny. He'd always just assumed that the next Head of Slytherin or perhaps the next Potions Master would take over his rooms and furnishings. He'd always just assumed that all his books and journals, along with the notes on his potion experiments he kept in the desk, would go to Hogwarts itself.

Wandering around the room now, he ran a gentle finger around the rim of one of the porcelain tea cups. He'd bought the antique serving set with some of the first money earned as a Hogwarts teacher - the delicacy of the translucent china demanding that he take extra care with it, a subtle warning that giving into the rage that had bubbled hotly in his veins back then could cost him the fragile set. _Would the next teacher appreciate the delicate beauty of the service?_

His eye wandered around the room and twenty odd years of collecting: a small jade vase that had been sent by a colleague in China when Severus had solved a particular thorny issue Ping Sun was having with a strengthening potion; the colorful jewel-toned silk pillows that had made the small couch and wing chairs more comfortable. Each had been a separate gift from Albus over the years. The heavy lap blanket purchased against the sometimes damp chill of the dungeons. He enjoyed running his fingers through the thick fur while he read. He found it calming and meditative in a way. Then there were his books, constant companions through the years – their titles ranging across a hundred different topics. He would not survive the coming war. He knew this, had always known this, but now it wasn't good enough that his things would simply end up in some forgotten corner of Hogwarts.

"Rink," he called to the empty air. The elf appeared immediately, already bowed so low that his nose touched the flagstones.

"Master of Potions called for Rink."

Severus studied Rink. The elf was no longer wearing the pillowcase embroidered with the Slytherin colors, but a towel that he was wearing like a small toga. The elf was quivering, one ear tip flicking back and forth. "I am the Defence teacher, not the Potions Master. Slughorn is serving in that position this year."

Rink, still bent over at the waist, made a noise that sounded suspiciously like one of the Hermione's snorts of disbelief. "Rink is always house-elf. Master will _always_ be Master of Potions."

"Stand up, Rink." The house-elf straightened but somehow still managed to both look like he was bowing and to look earnestly hopeful. Severus let out a breath, half exasperation-half amusement. That hope needed to be squashed. Regardless of what he was about to do, Severus was in no mood to forgive or forget the house-elf's betrayal.

"Listen carefully and remember what I'm about to tell you. And make no mistake that if I thought any other house-elf would handle this correctly, I would have called for them." As expected, hope was crushed and Rink sagged slightly before pulling himself back up right although the metronome like flicking of his ear stopped.

"Rink will remember."

"Good. War is coming to the Wizarding world. It is unlikely that I'll survive."

Rink's eyes widened and his ears went down. "Master of Potions will not die."

Severus did laugh at that. "Master of Potions has a very short life expectancy, which is not your concern, nor the reason I called you. You are the most knowledgeable about my things, both personal and professional, of all the Hogwarts elves. When I die, I want you to go through everything. Pack it up and have it sent to Granger."

"But Master-"

Severus glared and Rink snapped his mouth shut. Really, he should have known that the elf had been corrupted when he started arguing.

Rink's ears flicked rapidly back and forth. "Rink will do as Master of Potions say _IF_ Master of Potions dies."

"Good. That is all I require."

Rink bowed low again but Severus heard him mutter to the floor, "Master of Potions will not die."

Before Severus could comment on that, Rink disappeared with a _**Pop**_.

* * *

**Author's Note 4:** Yes, I took the scene of Harry and Snape from JKR and twisted it to fit my version of HP reality. I couldn't seem to help myself, especially since it showed Harry attempting to use the Unforgivables - something in my reality he's been practicing for a while where in JRK's it just comes out of nowhere. I think it makes more sense in my version. Of course, I've been told that I tend to think that everything makes more sense in my version of reality. Something about being biased . . . :-)

**Author's Note 5:** I know, the author notes are almost as long as the chapter. There are a lot of gratuitous elf scenes in this chapter that are not necessary to the fic. I know it. You know it. But sometimes I just can't help myself.


	42. Ch 40: Growing Up

**Author's Note 1:** Just a reminder - this story was started a really long time ago before HBP came out. I say that because at the time it was assumed that Snape was pureblood. For purposes of this story, Snape being pureblood was important, so pureblood he remains. Also, we finally come to the end of Emo!Harry. Everyone cheer!

**Author's Note 2:** I've mentioned a few times that I have no artistic talent. Even my stick figures are sad, sad little creatures. But, I have nice readers who do have talent and they are gracious enough to share with me. I, in turn, like to share with everyone else. Hakari-chan over on Deviant-art has made a lovely drawing of Hermione and Severus from Chapter 32 of the story. Feel free to wander over to DA and leave a nice comment. The pic is here (just take out the extra spaces I added and scroll down the page): http: / browse . deviantart . com / ?qh = & section = & q = % 22 Pet + project %22%2C + caeria#/d30arjh

And . . . only one beta has looked at the story so far but I have another reading through it. In keeping with my tradition of presenting you guys with spelling and/or grammar issues, you are seeing this chapter as is. If you are a stickler for error free work, please read the fully betaed version when it goes up on Ashwinder.

* * *

**Chapter 40: Waking Up**

Harry came awake to a grey fog and the smell of mildew so thick that it seemed to have climbed up his nose and down the back of his throat. A second later he realized that the smell's associated taste coated his tongue in a thick disgusting layer that made him try to move as he gagged and coughed trying to clear the taste and smell away. As his mind provided his last clear memory, fear gripped him in a dizzying moment. Reaching for his wand, he twisted and then felt himself falling.

"Ahh!"

"Harry! You okay?" The sound of feet stopped near him and he felt a hand wrap around his arm. Startled and alarmed, he jerked his arm back and tried to scramble backwards only to stop when he hit up against something hard at his back

"Harry? Harry, are you alright?"

"Who's there?" he demanded.

A voice he finally recognized as Ron's said somewhere to his left, "I'll go get the Healer."

The sound of running feet retreated as gentle hands brushed against his arms. "Harry, calm down."

He knew that voice. Coughing again, Harry croaked out, "G-Ginny?"

"Shh, I'm here. Hermione's here too."

Hermione's voice came from his other side. "Easy Harry. You're safe. You've been asleep for a long time."

He blinked rapidly trying to clear the fog in front of his eyes. "No. Not safe. Snape, he was . . . the Headmaster." Harry felt his panic rising as the fog refused to clear from his eyes. "I can't see you. Why can't I see you?"

"Shhh," Ginny's voiced soothed again. "Ron's gone to get Healer Alverez. Give her a minute."

Harry heard a door open and the sound of several feet as a babble of approaching voices washed over him.

"Quiet, you lot," came the nonsense voice of the healer that Harry remembered. _Did that mean they were in Grimmauld Place? Were they safe? What happened to Snape?_

The voices around him went silent. "You, Alaster, quit glaring at everyone and make yourself useful. Help the boy back up on the couch." At the command, a set of rough hands appeared on Harry's shoulders and helped him back onto what he realized was the couch he'd been sleeping on. That explained the musty smell and taste he'd awoken with. Once he was settled, the hands disappeared.

"Why can't I see anything but grey?" Harry asked again.

"Hmm. Hold still."

Harry shifted on the cushion.

"Still, boy. Not fidget."

Resentment flared, but he forced out a half-sincere, "Sorry."

He felt cool hands on his face and then what felt like the tap of a wand against his temple. "Hmm. Now that's interesting."

"What?"

The healer ignored his question. "Yes, very interesting," she murmured. "Obviously a spell of his own devising. Hmm. Have to ask about that. Have to ask . . . oh, yes. Diabolically clever. You are-"

"Enough hemming and hawing," Alaster interrupted from beside Harry, causing him to jump at the nearness of the Auror. "Did that traitor Snape blind him for good or not?"

Harry stiffened at Snape's name even as Alverez muttered "Philistine", although Harry didn't know what she meant. "Yes, Alaster, Severus blinded Mr Potter. And before you go charging out of here hell bent on destruction, no, it is not permanent. It's not designed to be permanent and it's quite the ingenious bit of spell work. It would be quite useful to the Aurors. I'm sure Severus would be happy to share it if you asked him. Of course, you'd-"

His anger rising at feeling ignored, Harry snapped out, "I can't see."

"And you will," came the tart reply. "Now hold still."

The healer mumbled something and Harry once again felt her wand press against his face. Suddenly his eyes begin to itch. His rising hands were caught by the healer as he tried to rub them. "Oh no, you don't. No rubbing." Feeling his eyes tear up against the irritation, Harry blinked rapidly. Slowly, the stinging and itching stopped. Squeezing his eyes shut and then opening them, Harry saw the study in Grimmauld Place swim into focus along with a ring of concerned faces. Harry could see again.

"What happened?" he asked again. "Where's Dumbledore? Where's Snape?"

Alverez sat back on her heels with a muttered, "Not even a bloody thank you," but Harry ignored her, to afraid of what his last memories were telling.

"Will someone just tell me what's going on?"

"Oh, for goodness sakes," Hermione finally snapped when no one else seemed ready to step up with the explanations. "After you disappeared," and Hermione's tone let him know just what she thought of that, "the castle went into an uproar. The Aurors were searching everywhere and accusing everyone of hiding you. All the students were sent back to their Houses. They called in more Aurors and made the teachers help with the search. When they still couldn't find you, they started sending small groups from each House down to the Hogwarts Express separately so they could make sure that you weren't trying to sneak down to the train hidden in a different group. It was total chaos. Of course, at the time, we didn't know that you'd already been spirited away and that was why no one could fine you."

"We were going to try looking for you with the . . ." Ron trailed off and gave Harry a meaningful look, before continuing. "But all the trunks had already been packed up and sent to the station. I even tried to convince the Aurors to let me and the prefects stay and help look for you but they weren't having it."

"Of course, the second group of Aurors called in contained both Tonks and Shacklebolt. Tonks was the one to get you away." Hermione added.

"She hexed me!" Harry yelled, sitting up as the memory came back.

"Yeah, we heard. You were already here by the time the Order members picked Gin, Hermione and I up," Ron said. "Tonks was still here and said that she came across you and Snape dueling."

Harry felt the rage fill him again. "He killed Dumbledore."

Moody, who'd been only partially listening, lifted his head, eye spinning madly. "Who killed Dumbledore?"

Harry spat the name. "Snape."

Alverez laughed. "You've been had, boy. The old goat is alive and well."

"But-"

"Let me guess," she said. "Snape told you this while you were trying to fight him." She shook her head and gave Harry a sympathetic look. "A good duelist is just as good fighting mentally as with a wand."

Harry looked over to Hermione and Ron in confusion. Ron gave him a lop-sided smile. "The headmaster was here when we first arrived, but left soon after. He hasn't been back. Snape hasn't shown up."

* * *

Three days later, everyone had settled back into life at Grimmauld Place but tensions were starting to run high. Ron and Ginny were trying to console each other as well as individually working through their grief, with Ginny spending hours in her room, and Ron tearing up at odd times during the day.

Harry alternated between sulking and growling at everyone. His random bouts of anger were, as always, focused Professor Snape. But it hadn't taken much to realize that Harry's real pain came from the death of Molly Weasley and that he was just as devastated by her death as Ginny and Ron. Molly had been the first true mother figure Harry had ever known and he was taking her death hard. To add to the layers of grief that hung over the inhabitants of the house, the continued absence of Professors Dumbledore and Snape weighed heavily on everyone's minds. Although, Hermione was fairly sure she was the only one worried about Snape.

Hermione was upstairs talking quietly with Ginny when the yelling began. Hearing angry, raised voices, both Ginny and Hermione grabbed their wands and ran downstairs toward the noise, the portrait of Mrs Black providing shill counterpoint to the steadily rising sounds of male voices. As they rounded the last stair landing, Hermione caught the reason for the commotion: Kingsley Shacklebolt and Severus Snape stood in the foyer. Shacklebolt's sold mass between Severus and Harry was comforting. Neither was likely to draw wands while the Auror stood between them, but Shacklebolt was wearing a confused frown that indicated he had no idea what was going on.

"This house is mine," Harry yelled. "I won't have that bastard here."

Severus, Hermione noted, was standing impassively before Harry's rage, his arms folded across his chest and one brow lifted slightly. Severus didn't flinch or seem to notice the 'bastard' comment. As a sneer curled one corner of his lip, Hermione saw Harry go for his wand.

"Harry Potter." Everyone in the foyer spun around at the quietly voiced words. Dumbledore stood at the end of the long hallway leading into the foyer, his expression tired and wan. "Am I to understand that you are revoking the Order's use of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place?"

Harry, his wand still half drawn, blinked in sudden confusion, his gaze shifting between Dumbledore and Snape. "N-no. No." He shook his head. "No, of course not. The Order can always use Grimmauld Place."

The headmaster's expression darkened in a way that Hermione doubted Harry had ever seen. "Then let me say this once and you would do well to listen. Severus Snape is a valued member of the Order of the Phoenix. He has served me and the Order faithfully for many years. I have trusted, and continue to trust him, with my life . . . with your life and the lives of your friends. If Professor Snape is barred from this house, the Order will leave as well. There is a secondary Fideliused safe house that we can use."

Harry blanched at the words as Hermione, too, stilled in shock. She'd never heard Dumbledore take that tone with Harry before. "I don't-" Harry swallowed hard. "I don't want the Order to go."

Dumbledore nodded gravely at Harry and his expression lightened. "Excellent." Turning and taking both her and Ginny in, Dumbledore gave them a warm smile though it was tinged with sympathy. "You have my condolences, Miss Weasley, on the death of your mother. She will be sorely missed by all who knew her." Then, obviously dismissing the younger members of the Order, Dumbledore turned back to Severus and Shacklebolt. "Severus. Kingsley." He gave each of them a nod. "I see I'm just in time to hear your reports." Dumbledore held out a hand towards the study. "Why don't we go in here? I can receive your preliminary report before we convene a full Order meeting."

Effectively barred from any further proceedings, Harry stood stock still until a slow red flush worked its way up his neck. Spinning on his heel, he headed down the hallway that would take him out to the gardens where Hermione knew Ron was puttering about on his broom. With a quiet, "Excuse me," Ginny slipped around Hermione and headed off after Harry.

Hermione dropped her head into her hands and massaged her temples. She knew she ought to go out into the garden as well with her friends, but she just didn't have the energy. Turning in the opposite direction she headed for the basement kitchen. Maybe Brolly, or one of the other house-elves in the kitchen, would let her make some tea and have a quiet think.

Hermione was still in the kitchen an hour later when the kitchen door abruptly swung open. For a long moment, she met Severus' tired black gaze. As he leaned backwards in preparation of backing out of the doorway, she raised a hand. "Please, stay." When he hesitated, she gave him what she hoped was a welcoming, if neutral, smile. "Please." He gave her a long look before finally nodding. Entering fully into the kitchen, he settled himself in the chair at the far end of the table.

From beneath her lashes, Hermione watched Severus as Pella, one of the elves at Grimmauld Place, appeared at his side. "How may Pella serve Master of Potions?"

Severus took a deep breath and then tilted his head in the direction of the stove. "Some of the soup will do for now. And a goblet of water."

Pella gave him a beaming smile and hurried off to fix his plate. Pella, Hermione knew, was one of the elves that had been at the house the previous summer when Hermione had been caring for the injured Potions master. The elf would make sure that Severus' meal was perfect.

Concentrating on her tea cup, she tried to ignore the quiet sounds of eating coming from the end of the table. The silence in the room was almost measurable, but she was pleased to note, not completely uncomfortable. He was still ignoring her presence, much as he'd done at Hogwarts since he'd discovered the sheets, but tonight she sensed something in his demeanor that gave her hope; a lessening of the painful tension that lately had seemed to crackle between them.

As he finished his soup and set aside the bowl, Hermione looked up and caught his eye. "Thank you for saving Harry." She gave him a rueful smile. "Again."

Looking away, he didn't acknowledge her and she fought back a sigh. Maybe she'd been mistaken about the change in the air.

"I asked you to keep him in the tower."

Then again, maybe she hadn't imagined it. He still wasn't looking at her, in fact his gaze was fixed determinedly on his goblet of water, but she noticed that he gripped the base hard enough that his knuckles were turning white. She reached out across the table and barely brushed her fingertips across his knuckles. He released the goblet as if she'd burned him, his gaze flying up to hers. She didn't withdraw her hand, but left it stretched halfway across the table. _There's no symbolism there, you daft girl_, that snide little voice in her head commented. But she firmly ignored it as she gave Severus a commiserate glance. "I've found that Harry rarely does what you ask him to do. No matter how much you try to corral him."

After a moment, Severus gave her a minute nod. "Indeed."

"But did you have to tell him you killed Professor Dumbledore? It's just made matters worse."

He gave her a disapproving look, that damnable eyebrow raised just the slightest bit. "I did."

She wanted to throw up her hands in exasperation but kept her gestures small and contained. He was speaking with her and she had the feeling that any wild Gryffindor-ish behaviors would send him running. Touching his fingers had almost sent him out of his skin, after all. "Why?"

"To rattle him." He shrugged. "To add fuel to the fire. To push him until he was a crazed, sputtering mess that could neither think straight nor cast a spell to save his life."

She grimaced. It wasn't hard to picture the scene in her head. Harry would have been a frothing, rabid lunatic and easily defeated. "I can't help but think that something else would have worked."

"Perhaps," he acknowledged with a hard edge to his voice. "Perhaps not. But time was of the essence and Potter was not going to come with me willingly. I did what I had to do. I will not apologize for that, Miss Granger."

She looked back down into her teacup, swirling the tea leaves in a slow circle. _Maybe it was time for a new topic._ "Earlier, Dumbledore looked upset with Harry, more so than I've ever seen him." She glanced back up. Keeping her tone bland and non-accusatory, she said, "You told the headmaster about the Dark Arts."

Severus' body tensed. "When I found Potter in the castle, he had a Dark Arts textbook. One that is used at Durmstrang and was probably left by one the students during the Tri-Wizard tournament. How Potter got a hold of it, I do not know. During our duel, he attempted to use an Unforgivable again me."

Hermione's felt a panic shoot through her. "What? Are you alright?"

Severus scoffed. "Potter could not harm me. He has neither the wit nor the skill."

Hermione opened her mouth to protest and defend her friend, but then realized that he was probably correct. _And what does that say about Harry's chances against Voldemort?_ a part of her wondered. She shook off the doubting voice. "Are you going to speak with Harry?"

Snape shook his head. "Dumbledore will speak with him. He would be a better choice."

She disagreed. "No, he wouldn't. Harry's started down a path you've already taken. He's played with things that have irrevocably changed him." She frowned. "I don't think he really understands how much he's changed. Dumbledore can tell him, but you can make him understand." When he didn't answer, she added. "I think Ginny is his anchor. Ron and I both can calm him down sometimes, but Ginny, she's really the one that can get through to him."

Severus sighed. "He cares for her." His lips twisted in a sour expression. "She makes him _happy_. He doesn't want to hurt her so he tries harder to control himself for her. Though, it is not wise to put your control in the hands of another." His voiced dropped to barely above a whisper. "People change. People leave. People let you down and betray you."

Hermione sucked in a breath, the words like a dagger in her heart. _That's what he thinks of me_. "Sir-" She didn't know what she was about to say, but even then she never got the chance.

Severus rose from his chair. "Good evening, Miss Granger." He was gone in a swirl of black.

She looked down at her arm still stretched halfway across the table. "Good evening, Severus," she said softly, his name tasting forbidden on her tongue. But there was no one to hear her impertinence except the house-elves and they weren't going to give her away.

* * *

The next day, Hermione, Harry and Ginny sat around the small study on the second floor that they'd taken over as their own. Harry and Ginny were on the floor playing a game of Exploding Snaps while Hermione was sitting in the window seat reading that day's _Daily_ _Prophet._ A two inch high headline scrolled continuously across the front of the paper: _Where is the Chosen One? Where is Harry Potter?_

Growling low in her throat she threw the paper down in disgust. As Harry leaned back and reached for the paper, she snarled, "Don't read it."

Still leaning backwards, Harry's fingers clenched, causing the paper to bunch and wrinkle. "That bad?"

She nodded. Rolling his eyes, he sat back up and pulled the paper to him. As he glanced down at the paper, his expression darkened and he began to read aloud, his voice deepening and taking on a fake portentous air. "_Where is the Chosen One? Where is Harry Potter?_" Dropping the pompous tones, he added, "It's all about me." He fixed Hermione with a scowl. "Why shouldn't I read it?"

Hermione ignored both the scowl and Harry's tone. "Because it will make you angry." Her eyes narrowed and her next words came out between clenched teeth. "Because it makes me angry. Because it's a piece of badly written tripe by that flying menace Skeeter. Because it's all about how they want to flash the wizarding world equivalent of the bat signal and have you swoop in and save them all, while in the process sparing them any messy involvement or action on their part while they stand around and wring their bloody hands in distress."

"Why would anyone want to deliver messages to Harry using bats? They aren't very reliable," Ron said from the doorway, obviously catching the tail-end of their conversation.

Hermione blinked, opened her mouth, stopped and then snapped her mouth closed with an audible click of teeth.

Harry laughed, the sound caught somewhere between a snort and giggle. "Don't worry about it, Ron." Harry balled up the paper and tossed it into the fireplace grate and watched in satisfaction as the paper caught and went up in flames. "It doesn't matter."

Ron made a face at the two of them but let it go, dropping down next to Hermione in the window seat. "Have either of your heard anything?"

She didn't like withholding information from her friends but felt that Dumbledore should be the one to speak to Harry, so Hermione just shook her head. "Everyone's being very quiet. They're worried though. More worried than they are trying to let on."

Ron tapped his fingers against his thigh. "I'm thinking that something's going to happen soon. I caught Dumbledore making a lot of Floo calls last night when I got last night. He's twitchy and not in his usually way."

When the door opened to the study opened, Hermione caught Harry scrambling to his feet. Professor Dumbledore stood framed in the door, his expression an odd mixture of resignation and determination, as if he was about to do something distasteful but was bound and determined to see it through regardless of his personal feelings. In that instant, Hermione knew what the coming conversation would be about. Her suspicions were rewarded when Severus trailed in behind the headmaster, his expression closed off and his posture stiff.

Dumbledore gave them all a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Please, Harry, would you join me at the table."

Harry went to the table, giving everyone a somewhat confused look as he took his seat. Hermione rather thought the scene in the study resembled one from the American western movies she used to watch as a child. Severus stood at the fireplace, his back to the room while he intently studied the fire that leapt within the grate. Harry and Albus sat facing each other across the small Victorian game table in the center of the room. Ginny was tensely sitting on the small couch behind Harry while she and Ron perched in the window seat. The atmosphere in the room was thick with tension. If everyone had been wearing six-shooters instead of carrying wands, and there had been playing cards on the game table, it would have been perfect.

Hermione looked over at Severus' tense back. His frock coat would fit right in. Squinting her eyes slightly she tried to image him in one of those western cowboy hats. It would be black, of course. The image had her stifling a thoroughly inappropriate laugh behind her hand.

Ron leaned towards her, "What's so funny?"

"Wyatt Earp," she whispered back, knowing that Ron wouldn't understand. "He'd look like Wyatt Earp."

Ron shook his head in confusion. "You're an odd duck, Hermione."

Harry finally lost what patience he had with the whole gathering. "What are we doing here and why does _he_ have to be here?"

The _he_ in question was obvious and Hermione noticed Severus' right hand clench into a fist before being released. She had the feeling that Severus did not want to be here anymore than Harry wanted him there.

Albus shifted tiredly in his seat. "Professor Snape is here because I've obviously failed you, Harry." Disappointment heavily colored his voice. "Your friends are here because they are your friends. We are here because I assumed that you understood the dangers present in the Dark Arts. When Severus told me about the book, I assumed that you knew enough-"

Harry interrupted. "I know enough. I have to kill Voldemort."

Hermione, from her perch on the window seat, saw the muscles in Severus' back tense as Harry said Voldemort's name.

"Oh, Harry," Dumbledore sighed. "You cannot fight the Dark Arts with more of the same. Your mother didn't save your life with hate, she saved it with love. And what you have done is . . . I've asked Professor Snape here because he can-"

"Tell me about love?" Harry sneered. "He's never loved anyone and I doubt anyone's ever loved him."

"Harry!" Hermione cried, just as Professor Dumbledore slammed his hand against the tabletop, the crack of sound silencing anything either Hermione or Harry would say.

Dumbledore's eyes were flat chips of blue ice as he stared back at a sullen Harry. Only when it was obvious that Harry wasn't going to make another outburst did the headmaster shift in his chair to glance over at Professor Snape who was still staring into the fire, as if it encompassed his whole world. "Severus, I would not ask, if it was not important."

"Of course not, Albus." He dismissed bitterly. "What is my privacy and humiliation compared to the future of the boy savior of the Wizarding world?" Severus let out a rusty sounding laugh that made Hermione ache for him.

Severus finally turned around. His face was set in an expressionless mask and Hermione knew that if she stepped closer to him that she'd feel that awful cold he wrapped himself in when he went to see Voldemort. _What could possibly be so bad that he was using Occulmency tricks?_

"Never been loved and never loved in return? Is that what you think, Mr Potter?" When Harry refused to answer, Severus continued. "You are wrong. I have done both." Hermione watched pain flicker across his face. "Her name was Lily Evans."

_Lilly Evans. Lilly Potter_. Hermione's heart gave a lurch. _He had loved Lilly Potter_. So many things suddenly became clear to Hermione . . . the reasons why the Headmaster trusted Severus, the reasons Severus seemed to both hate Harry and yet protected him. Her heart gave another painful lurch. She suddenly had no doubt that Lilly Potter and her death were the ultimate reasons Severus had turned against Voldemort. She suddenly blinked back tears she knew she had no right to cry. _Severus Snape still, in some way, loved Lilly Potter._

Harry was instantly on his feet, his wand in his hand and pointed at Snape's chest. "You lie," he cried.

"Sit down, Harry," Dumbledore commanded.

Harry ignored the headmaster, his attention completed focused on Snape. "You lie. I saw your memory in the pensieve. She tried to help you and you called her a mudblood. That's not exactly love."

Hermione sucked in a breath at the hated epithet, her eyes on Severus, but his expression gave away nothing. She saw Dumbledore make a gesture with his hand, "Sit" he commanded and his time Harry sat. From Harry's startled expression, Hermione guessed that there was more than a little magic coercing his sudden desire to sit.

Confused herself now, she tried to catch Severus' eye but the man was looking straight ahead. She watched as Severus gathered himself and she wondered if anyone else saw how hard this was for him. But when he spoke, none of the tension she could see was reflected in his voice. "When I was eight, I found a book in my parents' library. It was an introductory primer used in Durmstrang to teach about the Dark Arts. Unlike the Defense books used at Hogwarts, the book was more . . . practical in nature. I read it many times . . . began experimenting with its contents."

Harry's lip curled in contempt. "Sirius always said you came to school knowing more about the Dark Arts than most seventh years."

"I would not be quite so self-righteous. The book I read so long ago that began my journey into the Dark Arts was the very same book I found you with."

"It's different. I'm not you. I'm not going to become evil." The unspoken words, _like you_ were loud and clear to everyone in the room.

Severus gave Harry a chilled smile. "Oh, Mr Potter, you already have. I met Lily and her lovely sister Petunia a few years later. I was the first person to recognize her as a witch. We were inseparable. We were friends."

"You loved her," Harry sneered.

Severus eyes closed briefly before he reopened them. "Yes. But I enjoyed the Dark Arts Mr Potter and I learned them well and it ultimately caused the break in our friendship. They corrupt and taint, Mr Potter and you are now just as corrupted and tainted as I am."

Harry's shook his head. "No, I don't believe you. I was learning so I could help."

Severus gave a tight, angry shrug. "I practiced to protect myself from the bullying of your father and his malicious little friends. It does not matter the reason. You start out with noble intentions and the very best reasons. And in the beginning your spells don't work and you don't understand why. And then bit by bit you realize that anger makes it easier, makes everything more powerful. And you reach again and again for that anger until in the end, the anger rules you instead of the other way around."

"I'm not-"

"Not angry?" Severus hissed, his lips pulled back in snarl. "You are. You're always angry now. It eats at you and clouds your thoughts." Severus swept his hand out to where Hermione and Ron sat. "Ask them. Ask the ones that know you best."

Harry turned partway in his chair to look at his friends, his eyes wide and frightened behind the lens of his glasses. Beside her Ron shifted and gave a little cough. "It's not as bad as he's making out, mate. But, we've noticed that your temper is a little . . . a little . . . "

"What my git of brother is trying to say," Ginny said tartly, "is that you have more temper tantrums than he does without even having the excuse of being a red-head."

Ron glared at Ginny as Harry shook his head in denial. "Okay, fine. I've been a little angry lately. It's nothing."

Severus took a step toward Harry, his eyes slitted in annoyance. "Nothing? It's nothing? There's the famed Gryffindor arrogance. Did you think that just because you were the famous Harry Potter than the consequences somehow didn't affect you? That you could just dive right into the depths of come back up untouched? You tried to throw an Unforgivable at me."

Both Ginny and Ron gasped in horror.

"Severus," Dumbledore said mildly, bringing Severus back to heel as he lost his own battle with his temper. Hermione suddenly understood just what Harry was going to have to face in the future. Severus had created coping mechanisms for his anger, Harry would have to do the same. Hermione finally caught Severus' eye. His expression was bleak and she tried to give him a small smile of encouragement. Deliberately she inhaled, taking a deep breath. As she took a second one, she watched as Severus copied her. "Perhaps a fuller explanation would help," she suggested. Falling back on her bookworm tendencies, she added, "People do study the Dark Arts."

Breaking her gaze, Severus inclined his head before turning back to Harry. "The Dark Arts can be studied. They can be taught. They can be learned. Only the most cautious do the first. Only the foolhardy perform the second. And I assure you, Potter, only the idiotic attempt the third."

At Ron's smothered laughed, Severus shot him a look. "Yes, Mr Weasely, I'm well aware I cast myself in the third category." Switching his attention back to Harry, he asked, "The Entrail-Expelling Curse and Avada Kadava, Mr Potter, both will kill their target. Why is one considered an Unforgivable and the other not?"

Harry looked startled for a moment before shaking his head. "I don't know."

"Magic is about intent. It is also about what you have to do to full the spell. Hate and anger are powerful fuels, as you have well learned. They are easy paths to great power. Yet the very act of calling them up over and over again, it becomes almost like a drug and like a drug it warps the user's magical pathways."

"It wasn't like that. I'm just fine. Nothing's happened to me."

"Hasn't it? You cast a Patronus your first time, I believe. You've cast it multiple times since to protect yourself and your friends. When was last time you cast that particular spell, Mr. Potter? Within the last year?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't know exactly. Last year sometime."

Severus' voice turned silky. "Was it easy to call up the happy, joyful memories, Mr Potter? Did they come rushing to the surface along with your magic? Was the Patronus strong and vibrant, its outlines clear even though it was ethereal?"

Harry's eyes narrowed as if he expected some trick or trap. "Yes."

The silky tones turned harsh. "Call your Patronus, Mr Potter."

Harry climbed to his feet, pushing his chair back with a violent shove. Pulling his wand again, he closed his eyes briefly and then cried, "_Expecto Patronum!_"

Hermione found both she and Ron were leaning forward as thin silvery mist flowed out of the tip of Harry's wand. Harry turned to flash a smug grin in Severus' direction only to spin back when Ginny made a small choked noise. The silvery mist swirled together and the faint outline of a stag could be seen briefly, before the entire apparition faded away.

"No!" Harry cried, one hand outreached as if he would capture and hold onto the stag. Lowering his head and scrunching his eyes closed, Harry went stock still. Once again, he snapped open his eyes and cried out, "_Expecto Patronum!_"

This time as the silvery mist formed, it remained, but the stag's form was hazy, its branching antlers seeming to fade away at the tips. As it shifted its weight on its hooves, its outline seemed to waver in and out. But the image held, if just barely. From the sweat that dotted Harry's brow, it was obvious that the effort cost him greatly.

"Release it, Harry," Dumbledore said.

When the stag was gone, Harry collapsed back into his chair. "I don't understand." He sounded lost and his eyes behind his black rimmed frames where wide and scared.

"Dark Magic uses darker emotions," Dumbledore explained gently. "A Patronus is dependent on joy and happiness and love. None of those who are loyal to Tom, who have corrupted themselves and their magic with the Dark Arts can cast a Patronus."

"Snape . . ."

"Professor Snape, Harry, can cast and has cast one many times. Are you ready to listen now?"

Ginny got up off the couch to hug Harry from behind. "We'll help you," she said. Ron was next up, clapping his hand to Harry's shoulder and Hermione joined him. "You know we'll be by your side, mate."

Harry nodded and flashed them all a grateful smile before turning back to Dumbledore. "What do I have to do?"

Only Hermione seemed to notice when Severus stepped back from the hugging group and made his way towards the door. She clenched her fists as he walked out the door, his back stiff and proud. Her anger rose as the headmaster did nothing. It wasn't that she begrudged Harry the support he needed right now, but Severus Snape, a man who epitomized personal privacy, had just bared his soul to a group of people he wasn't particular fond of and no one seemed concerned for him. She growled low in annoyance. "If you'll excuse me," she said to no one in particular and made her way to the door.

He was gone by the time she reached the hallway. "Damn it," she muttered and then jumped as one of the elves that worked at Grimmauld Place appeared in front of her.

"Miss finds Master of Potions in garden," the elf said with a short bow, his ears curled in respect. Making a mental note that she really needed to talk to Lonny about just what her status was within the culture of the house-elves, Hermione folded one of her hands in acknowledgement and took off towards the overgrown and desolate garden in the back of the house, pausing only long enough to grab her school cloak from the hallway.

Severus was easy to spot, his habitual black making him stand out against the winter dead shrubs and weeds of the garden. He was sitting on the end of a stone bench facing the overgrown remnants of a formal herb garden. He sat ramrod straight and forbidding in a way that only he could manage, as if his very posture snarled at the world that he didn't want to be disturbed. Pausing at the edge of the garden, she briefly considered that she might be crazy. She knew he was angry with her, and to the fact that she'd been present while he'd shared part of his past, and she was sure that her presence would not be welcome. But she couldn't shake the feeling that he shouldn't be alone, especially not after opening old wounds. Shivering from the cold, she started with the easy things first. Pulling her wand she cast a succession of three spells, encompassing the area around the stone bench in a cocoon of warmth.

When Severus neither acknowledged her nor the spells she cast, she heaved a little sigh. Then again, he'd not hexed her or yelled at her to go away, so maybe she should count being ignored as a victory. Making her way carefully through the weeds, she approached slowly until she was close enough to touch him. Gathering her courage, she turned and sat on the bench, pulling her knees up to her chest and covering her legs with the trailing edge of her cloak. Neither of them moved. Then Hermione scooted backwards until her back pressed firmly against his. He didn't move and she let out the breath she was holding. Their positions were reminiscent of the night Rink had brought her to him. Feeling the heat of his body soak into her back, she realized then that she sought out touch with him. She wondered if he realized just how much they touched and what that meant. Looking up into the gathering twilight, she let that thought go for now and relaxed. He would talk, or hex, or send her away. But until he did _something_ she was staying right here.

An indeterminate time later, he finally spoke, his words rough and raw-edged. "Why are you here?"

She glanced back up into the sky watching the first stars of the evening blinking into existence. "It's a nice night. I thought I'd come look at the stars." As she said the words, she smiled, imaging the scowl that crossed his face.

He shifted, and she felt his posture soften just the tiniest little bit. "I am still angry."

She smiled a little. "I know."

"This changes nothing."

She pressed backwards slightly and was pleased when he didn't move away. "I know."

They fell silent for a while and Hermione renewed the warming charms around them. Neither made a move to get up.

When he spoke again, his voice was softer and she had to stain to hear his words. "Why did you make the sheets?"

Hermione found herself suddenly blinking back tears as the simple confusion in his voice ripped at her heart. Of all the things Hermione expected of Severus to say or do, asking about those thrice-damned sheets was not one of them. But she supposed to him, it might make sense after taking about his relationship with Lilly so long ago. Once again she found herself wanting to hex everyone who had ever caused this man pain. She wanted to turn around and throw her arms around him and hug him but knew she couldn't. So she did what she could. She took a breath and leaned just a little bit more of her weight into his back. "You were tired."

"I was tired," he repeated.

At his back, she flushed at his slightly mocking tone.

"You were exhausted," she clarified. "And I couldn't understand why no one else seemed to notice. It . . . it made me angry."

"So in true Gryffindor fashion, you took it upon yourself to fix my problems."

She let out a huff of breath. "When you say it like that it sounds rather presumptuous and arrogant. But it wasn't. Well," she amended, "I mean it was. But, I just wanted you to feel . . . I don't know, safe, maybe." She let out a sigh. "I'm not explaining this very well."

"Nevertheless, continue."

He didn't sound angry, but he didn't sound pleased either. Hermione tried to remember back to what she was thinking and feeling the previous year. "I wanted to help you. I wanted you to know that you weren't alone. I researched."

"Of that, I do not doubt," he commented, his voice dry and acerbic.

She ignored him and continued with her story. "I researched," she repeated. "But nothing was right. I didn't want to put you under a sleeping spell or drug you or coerce you. And then I got the idea for the child-rearing books and I wondered what witches used to put babies to sleep." She shrugged against him, her shoulder blades rubbing against his. "You found me that day in the library. The day I found the books."

His voice was faintly disgruntled. "Miss Granger, I am no baby."

She smiled at his tone. "No sir. You aren't. I wasn't even sure it would work. And the sigil that I originally designed was more of protection and strength."

"Originally designed?" His voice sharpened, "The lioness and snake were not your intention?"

"No. That was the magic. The original design was much more-" she gave a small laugh – "subtle. The design you saw was created entirely by the magic."

Hermione felt his body shift against hers slightly. "Your magic drain last year. That was when you made the sheets."

She nodded even thought she knew he couldn't see her. "Yes. But looking back, I don't think I was in as much danger as everyone thought. I don't think the magic would have permanently harmed me. It's not that kind of magic."

"You cannot know that. The risk you took-"

"Was worth it," she interrupted softly. "If it brought you at least one night's peaceful sleep, it was worth it." She knew she'd shocked him, could feel it in the rigid lines of his back. She didn't regret saying it though. He was quiet a long time.

"It was not worth the risk you took," he finally repeated.

She wondered if he realized he was saying that_he_ wasn't worth the risk she took. As if it was not a risk that she would have taken for any of her friends. "I respectfully disagree. Sir."

Hermione felt a swell of magic swirl around her. It tasted of anger and old pain to her magical senses. "Did you not hear Potter earlier, Granger?" he growled. "Were you not listening? I studied the Dark Arts willingly; studied them for years. I chose to follow the Dark Lord. I turned on the one friend I had and because of her birth I was more than willing to call her mudblood and revel in her destruction."

"Why would you do that?" It hadn't made any sense when Harry made the accusation earlier. It didn't make any sense when Severus flung the knowledge at her now.

"Because I was angry with her. Because I was already losing my way."

"Did you mean it?"

He paused before he answered, as if remembering. "As I spoke the words, yes."

She absorbed this for a moment. "And immediately after?"

"No."

Hermione frowned, trying to picture the scene in her head. Something here didn't add up but she was afraid that Severus had answered all the questions that he was going to. She was surprised when he started speaking again.

"It was the O.W.L. finals. When I finished, I went outside. I ran into Potter and Black."

His magic swirled around them again and she briefly wondered if the fact that she was pressed up against him somehow increased her sensitivity to the magic Affinity they shared. "You fought?" she asked quietly when it didn't seem like he was about to continue.

"I lost." Hermione winced in sympathy at the bitter pain and rage tied up in those two small words. "Lily joined us then and berated Potter and Black into releasing me." He fell silent again as if even after all this time the memory was still hard to speak about.

The blurry picture in her head was coming clear now. She'd been observing Severus for over a year now. She knew how proud he was. She'd also been observing Harry and knew how volatile his temper his temper had become due to the Dark Arts contamination. Pride and temper wouldn't have made a good combination. Severus would have lashed out at his rescuer. To be saved by anyone in front of his peers would have been mortifying for a teenage Severus. To have his rescuer not only be a girl, but a Gryffindor girl, and then have her be Muggle-born . . . the picture was becoming very clear to Hermione. "That's when you called her a mudblood."

The back pressed against hers jerked at the word. "What happened?" she asked when he didn't speak.

"What makes you assume something happened after that?" His words were cold but lacked his usual sneer.

"You wouldn't have left it like that, not if she was your friend," she protested.

"Know me so well, do you?" He was mocking her but she held her tongue. She did know him; knew that his actions were always truer than his words. When she didn't respond, he finally said, "As soon as I realized what I'd done, I waited for her and apologized."

He stopped then and as the silence stretched on, Hermione sucked in a breath in realization. "She ended your friendship."

"Yes." Succinct and terse, but still pained, even after all these years.

"But she was your friend," she objected, unable to understand the whys of what Lily had done.

Behind her Severus gave an annoyed sigh. "Because I was sorry for the _word_, girl. I wasn't sorry for the other friends I had in Slytherin." His voice grew rougher and louder. "I wasn't sorry for my ambitions, I wasn't sorry for wanting to be everything I was not, and I damn well wasn't sorry for hating Potter and his friends."

"I am-"

"I do not need your pity," he snapped, before she could say anything else. "I lov . . . I drove her away. But trust me, Miss Granger that was certainly the least of my sins. I overheard Trelawny give Dumbledore the prophecy. I gave the Dark Lord the knowledge. I knelt before him and gave him my fealty. I willing laid out my arm for his brand. I have committed . . ." he trailed off, his breathing hard ragged.

She could feel him shuddering against her back as he fought to regain control of his emotions. "Did you know the prophecy concerned Lily?" she asked quietly.

"No," he bit out. "But that hardly matters. I set the Dark Lord on innocents. When I discovered that Lily was a potential target, I begged the Dark Lord to save her life. I begged Dumbledore to save her. _Her_ life, Granger. Not Potter senior or junior. I didn't care about them. I didn't care about the fact that a second family met the criteria and therefore was a target. I am no hero in this tale," he snarled out.

Hermione turned his words over, thinking about the things he said and didn't say and compared them to the man she knew now. "I won't make excuses for you," she finally said. "I won't try to justify. What you did . . . what you have done was unconscionable." She could feel him breathing hard against her. "But, I would say that you are not that man anymore. Of course, you didn't ask for the life of James or Harry. You've admitted that you were deep into the Dark Arts and working for the Dark Lord then. Truthfully, right now, I wouldn't expect Harry to ask Dumbledore for your life if the situation was the same. But S-sir," she almost slipped and called him Severus, "you are not that man now. I've watched you. You aren't that man anymore."

He huffed out a breath in contempt. "There are those that will tell you I am exactly that man."

* * *

A few heartbeats later, he sighed, "Go back inside, Miss Granger."

"Sir?"

"I am tired of your incessant yammering. I need a few moments of quiet." His words were sharp but there was no venom behind them. Technically, they were not even true since he'd been doing most of the _yammering._ He felt her shift against him as she got up from the bench. He told himself firmly that he did not miss her warmth at his back.

"I'll ask the house-elves to have some tea waiting for you."

"I do not need – oh never mind," he grumbled. "Tea would be welcome."

He could hear the smile in her voice. "Of course, sir."

He didn't look at her as she walked away but he followed her progress by the crunching of her shoes over the brittle grass and weeds. He let the silence of the garden fill him although it did nothing to calm the tremors that were still reverberating through his soul.

He remembered the conversation he's had a few weeks back with Vector.

"_The young woman has a crush on you."_

"She is a child," he'd responded at the time. Not wanting to hear Vector's words and examine too closely his own feelings that the words engendered.

"You have to," she'd insisted. "Severus, she's been falling for you since the summer, possibly even before that. She cares about you and her caring . . . I swear to you, Severus, on everything I've ever learned about Arithmancy, her caring is part of that rogue."

He'd scoffed, trying to brush her off, but Vector had persisted. She'd said Hermione was devastated. Heart-broken.

_Over him_. It was incomprehensible. He was . . . well, he thought ruefully, he was himself and he had no illusions about what exactly that meant. The girl . . . the young woman . . . he was confused in a way that terrified him more than Dumbledore and Voldemort combined. She was asking him to give her his trust and accept hers in return.

Had not the debacle with those damnable sheets proved that he did not trust? He didn't know if he could do this. Hell, he wasn't even sure he knew how to forgive anymore.

"Lie to others," he muttered as he lowered his head down into his hands. "Never lie to yourself." There was no denying that some part of him trusted her, had given her the gift that had belonged to no one except Lilly, so long ago. Somehow, somewhere, he'd accepted her. _Did she know?_ he wondered, then laughed at himself at the thought. Of course she knew. It explained her incessant need to touch him. He had no doubt she knew exactly what she was doing.

He wasn't sure what to do at this point. Regardless of Hogwarts being closed, she was his student and his responsibility. And she was so very, very young.

_Never lie to yourself_.

He'd been faithful to Lily's memory and the promises made to Dumbledore for seventeen years. For the first time in a very long while he wondered if Lily would have been as faithful. He couldn't help comparing the situations between Potter and himself. Lily had severed their friendship over a horrible mistake, a single instance that he'd regretted the moment the words left his mouth. Lily had refused his apology and left him adrift. And though he had no one to blame but himself for turning to Voldemort and his ephemeral promises, he wondered if the outcome would have been the same if she'd stood by him as the Weasley boy and girl and Hermione had stood by Potter. One transgression had sent Lily from him. How many times in the past year had Potter struck out at his friends? Yet they had never turned from him, even knowing that he was drawing himself further in the Dark Arts. When faced with Potter's use of the Dark Arts, they flocked around him in solidarity.

_Could he trust?_ He didn't know anymore. He wasn't sure he trusted anyone completely. Oh, he trusted in certain truths – he trusted Albus to do what was right for the Order and the wizarding world, he trusted that the Dark Lord would do what was right for himself. But Granger? He had no idea what she would do. He rubbed at his face before sitting back up. With a concerted effort he straightened his back and resumed his sneering expression. It would be best to keep her at arm's length. Hermione Granger was a temptation and one he could ill afford.

"Severus?"

He twisted slightly to see Albus standing at the edge of the garden. "Can I help you, Headmaster?"

The headmaster gave him one of those long lingering looks that twisted Severus' insides and made him want to throw up his Occulmency shields. "I wanted to make sure that you were well."

Severus stood, his cloak settling around him. "Well enough," he said.

Albus nodded but still gave him that contemplative stare. "Then I need you to return to Tom this evening. There is something going on at Hogwarts. The wards are . . . even Minerva is sensing something. I need to know if Tom is responsible."

Severus bowed his head even as a trickle of fear wound down his spine. But he made sure to betray nothing of his feelings in his expression. "Of course, Headmaster. I will attend him tonight and offer my congratulations on the closing of the school."

Albus nodded again and ushered Severus back inside.

* * *

The Order meeting was a somber and quiet affair that made Hermione's heart ache. It wasn't so much that previous Order meetings had been jubilant parties, but there had been an animation; a hopeful energy that had surrounded each gathering. That in spite of danger and turmoil, these people had met with purpose and determination to see that the future of their world survived.

Hermione chided herself for her foolishness. Purpose and determination had left them defeated and broken. The lack of Mrs Weasley's cheerful bustling around and offering everyone food and drink was an open wound to those gathered in the small parlor at Grimmauld Place. Each missing face was another reminder of what they'd lost.

Hermione glanced around the room again. Severus stood in the far corner, as far away from the others gathered in the room as he could be and still be in the room. Moody was sitting on the threadbare couch, his magical eye rolled back in his head until only the white could be seen. Hermione had no doubt that it was trained firmly on Severus.

Ron and Ginny sat together, the last remaining representatives of the Weasley clan. They still had not found a way to get Charlie past the wards that had shut down the borders of wizarding Britain, and Bill was still effectively trapped within the Gringotts tunnels. Harry sat close to Ginny but still more than an arm's length away, as if he wanted to be both part and not part of them.

Kingsley Shacklebolt, Professor McGonagall, Healer Alverez and Tonks were standing together. Shacklebolt looked tense and Tonk's hair was flickering rapidly through every shade of the rainbow.

There were others arrayed around the room whose faces and names Hermione didn't know. Hermione had always known that there were many more people who owed their allegiance to Dumbledore and the Order. To think that a handful of witches and wizards were going to stop Voldemort all by themselves was ludicrous, but it had always been easier to just think about and see the main players that had come in and out of Grimmauld Place regularly.

Hermione left her own spot against the door and moved further into the room until she could lean against the wall next to Ron.

He gave her a brief nod as she joined them. "Dumbledore's late."

Hermione glanced over at Severus, noting his obvious tension. It was a tension that he usually controlled much better and rarely displayed. It told Hermione just how bothered Severus was. "They are worried."

"Do we-" Ginny began, only to stop as the fire in the grate flared green and a voice yelled, "Oy, look alive in there." Before anyone could move, multiple sized boxes began to be tossed through the magical fire. It took a second, but both Ron and Harry leapt towards the fireplace, clearing the space in front of the grate as more boxes sailed through. As the last box came through the fire, George, with Fred fast on his heels, came tumbling through.

Ginny screamed and pounced on the twins as that lay sprawled on the threadbare carpet. A second later, Ron had joined them on the floor. Hermione felt tears prick her eyes at the joyous reunion, even while acknowledging that the joy would be bittersweet.

A moment later, the fireplace flared green again, and the Headmaster made a much more dignified entry. Taking in the scene, he smiled. "Ah, I see the twins have arrived safely."

Then there were a dozens of questions being asked, voices filling and overlapping until Hermione couldn't keep them all straight. She found herself backing away from the noise until she found herself standing beside Severus. He didn't acknowledge her presence but he didn't move away either and Hermione was content to stand next to him until the Weasley reunion was finished.

As the commotion died down, Severus stepped forward, sweeping a look of disdain over the tangled mass of Weasleys on the floor. "What of Hogwarts, Albus?"

Dumbledore sighed. "There has been a new development. I do not know how but Tom has somehow closed Hogwarts."

Shacklebolt frowned. "We knew the Ministry closed the school days ago."

"No," Dumbledore said. "The Ministry dismissed the students from the school. The school was never _closed_."

There was something about the way the headmaster said the word closed that made Hermione's stomach clench. "What do you mean?"

"Tom has found a way to add impenetrable wards around the school. I cannot enter."

"Is it just you?"

Fred shook his head. "George and I couldn't get in either.

George finished the thought. "We couldn't even get in through any of the secret passageways."

Hermione felt a knot start to grow in her stomach. "Sir, you think this is something that the Dark Lord would do?"

"It's possible. Hogwarts is, and always has been, more than just a school. Its power is . . . not something to be taken lightly. It is a power that Tom has always craved. What I cannot understand though is how he has managed it. The power required for such wards is something I would have thought beyond him."

The knot in her stomach grew larger. She had a very good idea about what kind of power could block Hogwarts off from the wizarding world.

* * *

**Author's Note 3:** So, Snape is still annoyed with Hermione but softening, Harry has finally realized he's an idiot, the Twins have returned from exile, and Hermione thinks she's about to be in biiig trouble. It took fifteen pages to write out what was summed up in one sentence. It's no wonder it takes me forever to write anything.


	43. Ch 41: One Step Forward

**Author's Note 1:** A few of you have noticed my tendency to write both Lonny and Lonnie. It should be Lonny. Lonny was named for a friend whose name is Lonnie, but I changed the spelling. Habit keeps the fingers typing Lonnie. I'll try to catch that from now on.

**Author's Note 2:** I thought this chapter exceedingly dull and not my best effort. Maybe it's just because I know what's coming, but it just felt _blah_ to me. I realize that probably isn't the best way for an author to introduce their new chapter but it's the truth.

* * *

**Chapter 41: One Step Forward . . .**

Making her exit from the Order meeting as soon as practically possible, Hermione hurried down to the kitchen. The elves assigned last summer to Grimmauld Place bustling around, each going diligently about whatever task they were pursuing. As she entered, multiple ears flicked in her direction, but no one stopped their work. It was a subtle, but still telling, acknowledgement of her presence. She'd figured out that she got treated more as Hermy when she entered the elves' territory and more as Miss Hermione, with all appropriate deference, when she called on the elves in her territory. It was a distinction that seemed to make perfect sense to the elves, and underscored just how alien their worldview was from hers.

"Brolly?"

The house-elf put down the knife he'd been wielding to cut up vegetables. "How can Brolly serve?"

"Brolly, I need to speak with Lonny. Can you take me to Hogwarts?"

Brolly flicked an ear in acquiesce. "Brolly will take."

_And that answered that_, Hermione thought. The house-elves could still get into the castle and so could she - although whether that was because she was being _taken_ or because she was considered an honorary elf, she still had to determine. Holding out her hand, Hermione braced herself as Brolly reached for her. Two seconds later, she found herself in the Hogwarts kitchen surrounded by elves.

Brolly gave her a sharp nod. "Lonny comes," he said, before disappearing.

Hermione took a seat at the trestle table she'd climbed up on what seemed a lifetime ago to declare the end of S.P.E.W. She rubbed an idle hand across its smooth surface. So much has changed since then, she thought, as elves bustled around her, her presence largely ignored.

"How can elves serve Miss?"

Hermione jumped to her feet at Lonny sudden appearance, making the gesture of respect. "I'm . . .I wanted to ask about Hogwarts. Professor Dumbledore . . . uh . . well, he . . . he couldn't enter the school grounds. I was just wondering if maybe that was something the elves had done?"

Lonny gave what Hermione thought was a particularly pleased nod. "Elves serve Hogwarts first. Miss said."

Hermione sat back down on the bench with a thump.

Lonny continued, ignoring Hermione's suddenly weak-kneed state. "Elves serve Hogwarts. Elves begin serving wizards here before castle being built. Magic is strong here. Wizards want to use Hogwarts. Master of School wants to use Hogwarts. The one who wishes to be Master of all wizards tries to use Hogwarts."

Hermione sat up straight at that pronouncement. "What?"

Lonny flicked an ear. "Sends linked ones to Hogwarts. Hogwarts will not let them in."

Hermione frowned in confusion. "Linked ones? What do you mean linked ones?"

Lonny tapped one of her skinny arms. "Linked like Master of Potions. Linked ones want to use Hogwarts. Elves will not let in. Elves know."

Her eyes grew wide in comprehension. "You mean the Dark Mark. But you never stopped Professor Snape from coming and going from the castle."

"Master of Potions understands serving. Respects serving. Elves respect Master of Potions."

Hermione's breath caught. If ever she'd heard a description for Severus that was it: he understood serving. She felt a pang in her heart at the thought of what that service had cost him and was still costing him. Putting that aside for now, she concentrated back on Lonny. "Does that mean you'd let Professor Snape into the castle?

Lonny shook her head. "No. Elves serve Hogwarts. Elves come. Elves go. Hogwarts NOT be used by any. Is not purpose. Wizards decide who will rule. Then elves open Hogwarts."

_Well, shite_, Hermione thought. _The elves have gone and declared Hogwarts is Switzerland_.

"What about the other elves?" she asked as the thought hit her, concerned that if Voldemort realized that elves could come in, that the Death Eaters would just have their own house-elves bring them.

Lonny shook her head. "Only Hogwarts line allowed. No other House lines. Hogwarts is first of all Lines."

Hermione let the implications of that sink in for a moment before quietly saying, "You let me in."

Lonny flicked her ears in that way that Hermione usually interpreted as 'stupid question from a silly human'. "Lonny named Hermy to Hogwarts. Hermy no longer serves Master of Potions. Does not mean Hermy no longer of Hogwarts line."

For the first time, Hermione completely understood the house-elven urge to bang your head against a table. "Lonny, we might want to sit down and talk."

* * *

When Hermione reappeared back in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, she dropped the hand of the elf who'd brought her back. "Thank you, Sal."

"Yes, thank you, Sal."

Hermione spun around to find Severus sitting at the small kitchen table, a cup of tea steaming in front of him. He gave her an amused little grin. "Spies and teachers, Granger. We both are trained to know when someone is hiding something; to spot that flash of guilt that even the best liars can't disguise. You were fairly radiating guilt during the meeting."

She fought to control the tell-tale flush she could feel creeping up her cheeks. "I haven't lied about anything."

His amused grin grew a little larger and more shark-like. "And yet . . . you are hiding something. Something, I might add, that you realized in the meeting earlier."

She sat down in the chair opposite him with a small huff of annoyance. "Not hiding. I had suspicions. Now I have facts."

Severus rested his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers before him. Leaning forward slightly, he prompted, "And those facts would be?"

Dropping her head down into her hands, Hermione groaned. "That the Headmaster is going to kill me."

"Albus is not particularly known for murdering students. That's more my bailiwick."

Hermione let out a soft snort. "And they say you have no sense of humor."

At his raised brow, she let her momentary diversion into joking slip away and sat up straight. "The reason that the twins couldn't sneak into Hogwarts, and the Headmaster couldn't get in either, is because the house-elves, specifically the Hogwarts house-elves, have cordoned off the place. Hogwarts is a place of power. Not just the castle itself, but the very land it sits on. That's why the founders decided to build there in the first place. It's where the house-elves first took their oaths of service to the wizarding world. And the elves have decided that Hogwarts will not be used as a pawn in games of power between wizards. They've, in effect, named themselves a neutral party."

"How neutral?"

"Completely. If the Dark Lord wins, they will turn the castle over to him. If we win, Hogwarts goes back under the Headmaster's control. Oh, and Death Eaters, the elves call them linked ones, have been trying to sneak into the castle for weeks through various means."

Severus' expression grew dark. "I was not informed of such excursions – by either the Headmaster or the Dark Lord. How do you know?"

"The house-elves. They, and the castle, have been preventing them from entering."

"That is probably why the Dark Lord moved to shut Hogwarts down," Severus said with a grimace. "With the Headmaster removed and the students gone, the Dark Lord probably thought that he could then enter. He will be less than pleased that he is still being blocked."

Hermione sucked in a breath. "He won't hurt you because of that, will he?"

He stared back at her for a long moment, his expression suddenly unreadable. "No. I believe I am safe as I was not part of those attempting entry."

She sagged back in her chair in relief. "Good, I don't want you hurt because of me."

Again he gave her that inscrutable look, before asking, "How is it that the elves' sealing off the castle is because of you?"

Hermione heaved out an aggrieved sigh. "Because I opened my big mouth." Wrinkling her nose, she added, "It seems that I hold a somewhat unique position in house-elf culture. They consider me one of them . . . or, sort of one of them. It's all a little fuzzy and the line seems to move at times, but it all makes perfect sense to them."

"The ravings of a madman often make sense to other madmen."

Hermione made a face at him, undaunted at his return glare. "But what are we going to do? I've tried to talk to Lonny. She isn't changing her mind."

"We tell the Headmaster, of course. This will change his plans, but not as dramatically as you seem to fear. The more pressing concern, and the real bit of pertinent information, is that the Dark Lord has attempted to infiltrate Hogwarts. That is important." Severus stood. "Come. Albus and some of the others should still be upstairs."

* * *

"You did what?" Moody ground out, his face twisted into an imposing scowl.

Hermione cringed slightly. The hastily reconvened Order meeting was not going well. Hermione was rather thankful that most of the members had already departed and the only people remaining were what she considered core members. Now, they were all looking at her like they had after she'd brought in Healer Alverez to help Severus – as if she was something alien and unfathomable, and potentially dangerous. She amended that slightly, Vector was looking at her like she was the last chocolate cream biscuit on the plate. It was slightly disturbing.

"Enough, Moody."

Hermione's shocked attention flew to Severus. He'd defended her. To Moody.

"Enough? I'll say it's enough. And don't surprise me none, likes of you defending her. Girl spent enough time with you last summer to surely pick up your taint," Moody spat back. "She's gone and destroyed our best chance for survival. Makes a person wonder what else she's picked up from a devils-spawn like you."

Moody was quick, between his paranoia and Auror training, few could match him in skill. He still wasn't quick enough to beat Severus as the man pulled his wand. The room went very still and very quiet, when Severus spoke. "Malign my character as you wish. I do not care. You will not, however, disparage Miss Granger."

Moody snarled silently, his lips peeled back from his teeth, but there was a kind of vindictive glee in dancing in his eyes that made Hermione uneasy. But Severus' wand was pointed unwaveringly between Moody's eyes, while Moody's own wand was still only half raised. Moody's wand hand twitched and Severus' mocking grin widened. The tableau might have remained until one or the other threw a hex, but Albus laid a gnarled hand on Severus' shoulder. "That is enough, Severus."

Severus remained still a moment longer, and then abruptly sheathed his wand. He gave Albus a slight nod. "Of course, Albus."

The whole room took a collective breath that left Hermione feeling shaky and faintly nauseous.

"But what were you thinking, Hermione?" Harry's voice was just as accusatory as Moody's, but Hermione could hear the real confusion laced into Harry's question. She also saw the tight grip he had on Ginny's hand and knew that her friend was fighting back the urge to lash out at her. Conscious of his struggles, she tried to keep her voice calm.

"I was thinking that the elves knew where you were and could have very easily informed the Aurors when they were looking for you." She tried to make him and the others understand, putting every bit of conviction into her voice. "I was thinking that Professor Snape needed to find you first. I was thinking of your safety."

Moody let out a derisive snort and she flashed a glare in his direction.

"It's all right, Miss Granger." Albus stopped her from doing, or saying, something foolish to the man. "Tell me again what Lonny said."

Hermione turned back to Albus, but she could feel the ache in her jaws from clenching her teeth. "She has made it clear that Hogwarts will not be used as a pawn between two warring powers. Hogwarts is off limits until we, or the Dark Lord, wins this thing."

Healer Alverez raised a finger, catching Hermione's attention. "How will the elves know when one side or the other prevails?"

Hermione shook her head. "They will. Elves know things. And don't ask about how or what they know. I'm not sure exactly."

"But the elves are still working downstairs in the kitchen. And they're still doing that thing where they take people away if they get attacked," Ginny protested.

Hermione suppressed a sigh. "I didn't say it made complete sense. At least not to us. The elves here, and those working for the Aurors, are serving. That's their focus and they'll continue with that. It's Hogwarts specifically that has been closed off because they see that as serving Hogwarts."

Dumbledore stroked his beard as he thought. "Severus?"

"The Dark Lord believes that this is something that you've done and he has not taken the setback lightly. I expect I will be called soon to answer questions."

"Without Hogwarts, we will have to reorder some of our plans." The Headmaster's eyes were grave.

Severus nodded. "I would suggest engaging Mr Weasley. He has a decent head for strategy."

Ron's head shot up, his eyes wide from this unexpected praise. From where he was resting on the floor, Fred reached out and thumped his brother George in the chest. "Do you hear that? They want wee little Ronnikins to help."

Ron's face and ears flushed red as he glared at his brothers. "Mr Weasley," Severus said, halting their snickering, "will provide valuable input." What was unspoken, but nevertheless heard, was that their assistance would not be of value. "If-" Severus stiffened slightly and Hermione knew what was coming, even as Severus turned to the Headmaster. "If you will excuse me, Headmaster, there is something I must attend to."

Everyone's eyes followed him out of the room, but Hermione wondered how many of them really knew what had just happened. Unfortunately, with Severus gone, their baleful attention focused back on her.

* * *

An eternity later, the meeting finally broke up. She waited until most of the others had filed out of the room before calling out. "Ron? Harry? I just want to-"

Harry held up a hand. "No, Hermione. Just no. I can't talk to you right now." He shook his head. "I understand how it happened. I know it's not your fault, but I just can't talk to you right now. Okay?"

Hermione felt something under her breastbone twinge, but she did her best to give Harry a smile. "Sure, Harry. It's okay. I understand."

She closed her eyes so she didn't have to watch her friends walk out of the room.

"Hey." Eyes snapping back open, she found Ron crouched down in front of her. "He doesn't mean to be prat."

She gave him a somewhat watery smile. "I know. And I know he'll come around." She forced a teasing note into her voice. "When did you become Mr Sensitive?"

Ron gave her a grin, and if his was a little forced as well, she didn't point it out. "I can't always be thick as a brick."

Reaching out, she tousled his red hair. "Not thick. Brilliant." A real smile grew across her face. "Or Professor Snape wouldn't have recommended you to Professor Dumbledore."

Ron preened a bit. "That was bloody fantastic. Just to see the looks on Fred and George." Ron grew serious again. "Wish mum could have seen it."

"She'd have been very proud of you, Ron. I know I am. You've impressed Professor Snape, too. I don't think many people do that."

"Yeah. Hermione, what is going on between you two? And don't tell me nothing."

"I-I don't know. He's talking to me again. Sort of."

Ron stood up, his knees cracking from being crouched down so long. "Hermione, he bloody well almost hexed Moody for insulting you. Not that Moody didn't deserve it. That's a little more than just talking to you again."

She pushed herself up off the couch, feeling the need to move as she tried to put her feelings into words. "I don't know. Or, I do know, but I don't . . . it's complicated."

Ron let out a bark of laughter. "Complicated?"

"I know," she insisted. "That way lies madness, trust me, I know. But-"

"But you're going to do it anyway." Ron took hold of one of her shoulders and turned her towards him. "I should be yelling at you. I should be tossing a fit and frothing at the mouth. I should be a royal prat about this and be making accusations of Imperius Curses and love potions." He gave her a sour look and cried plaintively, "Hermione, he's Snape. The Greasy Git. The Black Bat of the Dungeons."

She punched him in the arm. "It's not like I'm snogging him in dark corners or anything."

Ron's hands flew to his eyes. "Oh, Merlin. Stop. Oh, my brain."

She hit him again. "Idiot."

He dropped his hands. "Just . . . you know, be careful. I don't think he's evil. Not anymore. But he's . . . he's . . . well, he's not exactly _good_ either."

"Ron, he's never even hinted that he could, or even would, return my . . ." _Feelings._ But she wasn't ready yet to say the word out loud. "I'm sure that to him, I'm just a silly little schoolgirl with a silly little crush."

"Hermione, you've never done silly in your life."

She laughed at that, and some of the tension flowed out of her. Stepping forward, she pulled Ron into a hug and hung on tight. "I love you, you know."

Ron tightened his arms around her. And if his voice was just a little bit wistful, neither of them commented on it. "I know. I love you too." Then he was releasing her and taking a step backwards to give her a cheeky grin. "Best let you go now though. Can't have old Snape walking in and sending a curse my way for trespassing."

"Trespassing?" she laughed. "You're an idiot. Get out of here and go check on Harry."

Ron headed towards the door. Opening it, he turned back. "You going to be okay?"

She nodded. "I'll be fine. Just going to stay in here and read a bit."

He gave her a knowing look. "And wait up." It wasn't a question.

"And wait up," she agreed.

Shaking his head, he left the room. As the door closed behind him, Hermione blew out a noisy breath. She really was crazy. She wasn't even trying to hide it anymore. She made a face. _Whatever IT was_. She hadn't exactly been subtle with Severus either. He had to know. She supposed that he could just be ignoring her more tender feelings while fervently hoping they'd go away. Grabbing up the Linking Charms books she was re-reading, she settled herself back down onto the lumpy couch. But he hadn't dismissed her, or used that barbed wit of his to shred her feelings, as he so easily could have. That had to say something, although most times she wasn't sure what. But he'd been looking at her lately. She couldn't say they were tender-eyed doe-y looks, or lustful, or any of the things the romance novels spoke about. It was more a look of confusion and consideration.

Really, this would have been so much easier if she'd just fallen for Ron. Voldemort would be defeated, she and Ron would get married, have two children, and live quiet little lives. Of course, she'd also be bored out of her mind. Shaking her head, she put away thoughts of might-bes and could-have-beens. "Pella?" she announced to the room.

The house-elf appeared almost instantly. "How can Pella serve Miss?"

Hermione gave the elf a smile. "Nothing for me right now, Pella. But I'm waiting for the Master of Potions and my hearing isn't as good as yours. Could one of you let me know when he comes in?"

Pella nodded. "Pella will inform Miss." With a small bow, Pella disappeared again.

Hermione settled back into the couch. Opening it, she began to read.

* * *

It was still a few hours before dawn when Severus apparated to the street in front of No 12, Grimmauld Place. He was tired, as he always was after spending time with the Dark Lord. The mental concentration it took to maintain his Occulmancy shields was draining, but the subtle, twisting dance he performed between truths, half-truths, and lies, was even more so. And now he was barred from Hogwarts and his usual routine.

Having no desire to wake the portrait of Mrs Black, or the other occupants of the house, he entered quietly only to find an elf waiting for him in the entry hall. "Is there a problem?"

The elf nodded, wringing her hands. "Pella is unsure. Miss asked Pella to tell when Master of Potions returns. Miss sleeps. Pella does not wish to wake Miss."

He had no doubt who 'Miss' was. Hermione had waited for him. Or, at least, she had attempted to wait up for him. _Gods, who but Albus in the last twenty years had concerned themselves enough to wait to see if he returned from his missions?_ "Is she in her room?"

"No. Miss waits in meeting room."

Severus pulled off his cloak and draped it over his arm. "I will see to her."

The elf, Pella, gave him a quick nod, but not the short bow that he'd seen the elves give Granger. "And bring me some tea." The elf nodded again and disappeared.

As he headed up the stairs, he began the mental exercises to shed the Occulmancy shields he'd maintained for the last few hours. He wouldn't be able to sleep until his mind was relaxed once more. Perhaps dealing with Granger would suffice to help calm him. A teapot and two small cups were resting on the sideboard when he entered, proof of Pella's efficiency. Granger half sat, half lay in the corner of one of the small couches in the room. Her face was turned towards the back of the couch while her hair spilled down around her is a riot of twisty curls.

Ignoring the steaming teapot, he took a step closer, studying her in a way that under normal circumstances he'd be unable to. Her skin had the porcelain smoothness of youth, but she'd lost the baby fat roundness through her face that he associated with the younger students. Her lashes were short, lying like brown smudges against her cheeks. He let out a huff of breath remembering her long ago comment about his own lashes. For a moment, he had that disorienting double vision of all who work with children and see them grow up – a superimposing of mature adult over the childish features of youth. It struck him then, that she was an adult, a young woman, and a lovely one at that.

Rearing back from her, he stepped quickly to where his tea waited. He chided himself for his reaction. _He'd known._ He'd known she wasn't a child any longer. He realized now that it was a half-hearted knowing, an intellectual knowledge, dry and esoteric. He swallowed hard, his gaze lingering on her. The knowledge wasn't so dry now.

Deliberately, he clinked his spoon against the tea cup – once, twice – and watched her stir. Her eyelids fluttered, _my, what pretty lashes you have_, and eyes that were usually filled with sharp intelligence blinked in sleepy confusion. She frowned as she focused on him. "Se-Sir? Oh, you're back."

"Most astute," he said, taking a calming sip of his tea. He'd caught her slip. She'd been about to say _Severus_. It did not bother him that she'd almost used his personal name. What he did find disconcerting, however, was the fact that it didn't bother him. He felt certain that it should. He wondered if he had the courage to use her name and what her reaction to that would be.

Pushing herself up, Hermione struggled into a seated position and stretched, her back arching and her arms reaching towards the ceiling. Severus turned his back to her, feeling a faint heat creep up his neck. _Merciful, Merlin_.

"Is that tea? May I have some?"

Feeling it safe to turn back around, he nodded. "It is tea, and yes, you may have some if you wish." A bit waspishly he added, "Although I daresay it would be best to leave off the stimulants and go find your bed."

She gave him a warm smile, as if he hadn't just been peevish with her. "I was reading and must have fallen asleep. It's one of Professor Flitwick's, and quite interesting – more theory than actual spellwork."

"And you simply fell asleep here? No ulterior motives."

She gave him an innocent look. "I must have."

"Once again, you prove that you are a horrible liar."

She laughed softly. "Then you know that I'll never lie to you." She must have read something on his face, because her expression shifted. "Truthfully, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. That all was well."

Feeling safer on this more familiar ground, he nodded. "I am well enough."

Her eyes searched his and then roamed over him quickly, as if looking for hidden trauma. He wasn't sure he liked the way his body wanted to react to that frank appraisal, but then she was rising and moving towards him and he found himself fighting the urge to step back from her.

Hermione drew close to him and his heart beat fiercely in his chest. Reaching forward, she cupped one hand around his, where he held the tea cup, the touch of her fingers warm against his. "I think you're right and I should head to bed now. Goodnight . . . sir."

As she watched her go, he wondered at her pause. Had she been about to say his name? Or, more importantly, had she detected the faint tremble in his fingers from her touch?

* * *

"Hermione, are you reading that book again? Come join us."

She glanced up over the top of her book to where Ginny, Harry and Ron were sprawled over the floor. Fred and George were busy telling the tale of their adventures while on the run and hiding out.

"In a minute," she replied absently, eyes tracking back down to the book. "I want to finish this section. It's a really fascinating look on how . . . "

Fred blew her a raspberry, while George snickered. At least they were talking to her again, she decided. Raspberries were better than silence and the walking-on-eggshells tensions that had pervaded the house for a few days. Sticking her nose up in the air, she took on a haughty air. "I will join you _people_ on the floor when I am finished." Giving a disdainful sniff, she turned back to her book with a smile, listening to Ginny laugh at her.

She was well into the next chapter of dealing with linking charms before the true import of what she'd read registered. It was an _Aha!_ moment worthy of Euripides' Eureka! or Newton's apple-induced headache. Flipping backwards until she'd found the correct page she re-read the passage:

_. . . it should be cautioned to the wise magic user that some of the Dark Arts spells in the Compelling subclass of Linking Charms can be fired in an uncontrolled chain-reaction that . . ._

"Linked ones. She called them linked ones."

"Hermione?" Ginny asked.

"Holy buggering hell, they're linked!" Hermione bounded up off the couch and spun around in a circle holding the book out towards her friends.

"Hermione!"

"She's gone bonkers."

"Got to go," she yelled, as she headed towards the door.

* * *

Severus was in the room he'd commandeered next to his own bedchamber. After a day's worth of warding and reinforcing, he set up the room as a temporary, but adequate potions lab. With the school closed, and the Dark Lord wanting him to stay close to the Order, Severus had found himself somewhat at loose ends. He wasn't exactly bored, but definitely restless. The act of potions brewing with its many and varied steps coupled with the routine of chopping and dicing, soothed him in ways few other activities could.

With that in mind, he'd taken to brewing some of the more useful potions for the Order's use, plus stockpiling a range of various healing potions that he hoped fervently wouldn't be needed. He'd also consulted with Alverez on some potions she needed for St. Mungo's. The work kept both his mind and hands busy while keeping him conveniently sequestered from those coming and going from the house. It was an adequate arrangement.

He was chopping daylily roots when his door burst open admitting Granger in all her wild-eyed and -haired exuberance. Waving a book around too fast for him to catch the title, she spun in a dizzying circle. "They're linked. You're linked. He's linked. You're all linked. We can do this."

"Granger!"

She ignored him and spun around again. "We'll need a spell. Lots of spells. Ohh, the right spell."

She was speaking so fast that she was tripping over her words as she darted around the room, her arms swinging wildly as she gestured to make some point that only she was privy to.

"Granger," he said again, letting his annoyance bled into his voice. Even that was not enough to disrupt her mad verbal rampage, although he couldn't remember the last time any of his more volatile moods had any effect, good or bad, on her at all.

Feeling as if he had no choice if he was ever to discover her point, and it did seem to be an important one from what he could tell, he resorted to the ultimate shock tactic. "Hermione!"

As expected, she came to an abrupt standstill, mouth open and eyes wide as she blinked owlishly at him. He let one corner of his mouth curl up in amusement. She was positively quivering in place, and the shock on her face was really quite satisfying. He'd have to remember to use her name in the future if the simple fact of his speaking it could overturn her so completely.

Reaching forward he tapped her jaw with his index finger. "Close your mouth, Hermione. It is singularly unattractive to see your tonsils." At his touch, her jaw snapped close though she was still staring with wide-eyed amazement at him. _Yes, definitely must use her name more often._

"Now, Hermione," – he couldn't resist using that seemingly magic word one more time – "take a deep breath and begin at the beginning. Please refrain from babbling this time."

Refreshingly, she did just that, taking a deep inhale and letting it out slowly. She was still bouncing slightly on her toes though, so he wasn't sure how long her calm would last. "Tell me now, before you burst and I have to get Alverez to put you back together."

"Linking charms." She held up the book still clutched in her hand. "I've been reading a book of Professor Flitwick's about linking charms. It's what I used when I disabled and redirected the charms the Ministry put on the Muggleborn and Half-Blood wands. "

"You what?" he asked with a frown. This was not something he'd been aware of.

She waved a hand at him. "That's not the important part. The important part is the linking charms. It talks about cascading charms through linked objects. Lonny called the Death Eaters trying to get into Hogwarts 'linked ones.' You once told me that the Dark Lord can use the _link_ from him to the Dark Mark that the Death Eaters carry to funnel your strength into him. What if we could do that in reverse? What if we could send a specific spell back through your Mark and back into all the other Death Eaters?"

Severus felt himself blinking at her. It was a novel approach. The spell would have to be a Master-ranked crafting and the spell devised would have to be carefully chosen. _Could it be done?_ He felt a thrum of something very akin of excitement wash through him. _To take out the Death Eaters all together, leaving only Voldemort on the field to face Potter. Was this then the break the Order had been looking for?_

* * *

Hermione fought the urge to jump around the room again. This had to be the answer. She could feel it in her bones. This would work. She wasn't sure how exactly it would work, but she knew it would. And, _oh, traitorous thoughts_, he'd touched her and called her Hermione. In all their other encounters, she'd reached out to him. But this time, his fingertips had rested butterfly light against her jaw and her name. _Her name!_ She hardly dared to breath as she'd stared at him, the thrill of that simple contact and a word like magic humming beneath her skin. Her heart had lurched painfully in her chest as his hand had finally fallen away and it was all she could remember that she was here to show him the book.

She was nervous now. _Was she wrong? Was this not the answer that would give them the edge to finish this fight?_

"Show me the book."

His words were quiet and controlled, no reflection of her own wildly fluctuating emotions colouring his voice. Passing the book to him, she stepped back as he settled onto a stool at the worktable. He hadn't dismissed her, and until he did, she wasn't going to leave the room. Drinking in the sight of him as he read, she noted the curve of his cheek, the pale slice of skin on his neck where his hair swung forward from his tilted head. She had an almost overwhelming urge to bend forward and place her lips _just so_ against that exposed skin.

She gave herself a good shake. Her relationship with Severus might be on the mend, _he called her Hermione!_but she was fairly sure _that_ was not the way to heal the rift between them.

Severus read over the page she'd indicated and then flipped backwards several pages and began reading again. Once he looked up at her, his eyes narrowed, before returning to the book. She tried not to fidget. She tried not to think about the touch of his fingertips against her chin.

"Conjure a chair and sit," he said, never looking up from his reading.

She did as she was told and waited. Absently, she tucked her fingers beneath her thighs as a reminder to sit still. She didn't even jump when Snape pulled his wand. She watched as he closed his eyes for a moment. He spoke no verbal command, but a second later the silvery mist that heralded a Patronus took shape in the air. Hermione sucked in her breath at the sight. The creature was almost solid, its outline strong and various shades of silver contoured its coat. It took a dainty step forward on delicate hooves and bowed its head to Severus. "Albus, I need to see you, now. Come immediately."

The creature took a single bounding leap, and disappeared through the wall into the air outside. Hermione curbed her impulse to rush to the window to see if she could follow the magical creation as it bounded through the air. "That was-"

"You never saw that."

Severus voice was flat and his eyes hard when she turned to him. "Of course," she agreed, just as seriously. She didn't breathe again until he eyes turned back towards the book. She wasn't sure exactly what that had been, but she filed it away for further contemplation later. At her agreement though, Severus had seemed to relax and had gone back to his reading. Shortly he summoned a roll of parchment and quill and began scribbling notes in a crabbed and spidery handwriting.

He never asked her to leave so she remained. She was still there almost an hour later when the headmaster arrived, absently brushing Floo powder and soot from his chartreuse robes. "Miss Granger," he said, acknowledging her presence. "Your message seemed to be of some urgency, Severus."

Severus rose from his seat. "Sit." And then pointing at the book, he commanded, "Read."

Dumbledore, Hermione noticed, didn't seem even slightly perturbed at these dictatorial commands, but instead conjured up a small cushion before settling himself atop the stool. Giving the book a quick glance, he then eyed her for a moment, before glancing back up at Severus. "So what am I am reading?"

"The end of the Death Eaters."

* * *

A few steps into the study and the door slammed shut behind her. Spinning around, she found a wall of Weasleys and Harry Potter staring her down.

"What's going on?"

Fred crossed his arms across his chest. "We'd like to know the same thing."

Hermione took a step backwards.

George copied his brother's stance. "Everyone around here as been going around like it's their bloody birthday and Christmas rolled together. There have been meetings."

"Lots of meetings," Ginny interjected.

"And Dumbledore brought in Flitwick. I saw him in the hallway," Harry added.

Ron tapped his foot against the floor. "And you know something."

Hermione threw up her hands. "It's not a big secret. It's just that no one is wanting to say anything until we can be sure, that's all. That's why Professor Flitwick's here."

"Sure about what, Hermione?"

"A way to get rid of all the Death Eaters without actually have to engage them. To bring them down all at once."

Ron frowned in concentration. "The Order doesn't have that kind of manpower. Plus, we don't know all the Death Eaters. There's no way"

"But we do have a way. Our model has been all wrong, you see. We've been playing chess, the game we need to be playing is checkers."

"Checkers? That's a ruddy kid's game."

Hermione gave him a wide smile. She conjured a board and then moved several of the black pieces where she wanted them.

"Checkers, Ron. Because in checkers with a single move you can clear the entire board." Hermione reached out to a single red marker and then proceeded to jump every single black marker on the board until only one remained. "I got the idea when I was reading that book on linking charms. All the Death Eaters are linked together through the Dark Mark. Professor Flitwick is coming up with a charm that we can use to channel through Professor Snape's Dark Mark."

Harry spoke up for the first time. "And with the Death Eaters down, that leaves Voldemort to me."

"That leaves Voldemort to _us_, you stupid git. To me and Dumbledore and Fred and George and Professor Vector and that daft Healer and everyone else in the Order. You are not alone." Ron raised his fist up in the air and shook it. "Don't make me pummel you again."

George's head went up like a dog scenting a fox. "Pummel? What pummel? Fred, I think we've missed something. Has anyone mentioned pummeling to you?"

Harry made a face. "It's nothing. And not important right now."

Ginny, however, leaned closer to George. "There was pummeling. And mud." She grinned, wiggling her eyebrows. "And pictures."

"Ooh, do tell . . . and show."

"Hey, not important now," Harry said again, trying to distract them. "I don't understand why they had to invite Professor Flitwick. You thought of the idea, Hermione. Why can't you make up this spell?"

Hermione let out a small chuckle. "I really appreciate your confidence in me, but this spell is a Master's level spell and so far beyond my skill level that I wouldn't even know where to start."

* * *

"Well?" Severus asked

"Patience, Severus." Dumbledore said.

Severus, his left arm currently stretched out across a pillow, scowled at Dumbledore. "I am done with patience. I wish to know whether this is going to work or not."

Filius, his head bent over the Dark Mark on Severus' arm hummed under his breath. Filius' wand wove a sinuous pattern over the Mark, its tip occasionally changing colours as it passed over the Mark. "This really is a most fascinating spell."

"Flitwick," Severus growled.

The Charms master finally lifted his head. "Yes, it can be done. Only . . . "

"Only what?" Severus snapped, very much at the end of his patience, Albus be damned.

Filius leapt down from the low stool he'd been standing on. "Severus and his Mark are going to act as the conduit. As the conduit, he cannot also act as the spellcaster. His magically pathways need to be completely open. The spell we choose and craft to our purpose must flow, without hindrance, through him."

Albus ran his fingers through his beard. "I do not see any problem with you casting the charm. You are the best qualified, Filius."

Filius conjured a tall chair and climbed up on it to put himself more on an even height with the others. Tucking his wand back up in his sleeve, he shook his head. "Ah, but Albus, you are not perceiving the problem. Severus must be _completely _open to the charm in order for the full force to be channeled through him. His own magic will try to impede the process, which is unacceptable. We need to find someone who shares an Affinity with Severus and I'm not sure how easily we'll be able to do that. We could, of course, test all the Order members, but-"

Severus groaned. "Enough."

"Severus?"

Getting to his feet, Severus pulled his sleeve back down, wordlessly engaging the charm that fastened the tiny buttons along his arm. "Testing will not be required. I share an Affinity with Miss Granger."

Albus shared a glance with Filius. "Severus, are you certain? It's not as if you can tell just by looking at-"

Severus cut him off. "Yes, yes, I am most certain."

The Headmaster seemed unsure of what to say for a moment. Then he asked, "Can the girl learn the spell?"

Severus couldn't help the snort of bemusement that escaped him. "I'll forgive you that bit of idiocy, Albus, as you have never had the dubious _privilege_ of teaching Miss Granger."

Filius let out a high-pitched laughed. "I'll have to agree with Severus on that, Albus. A charm of this magnitude will be complicated and she'll need to practice, but I have no doubts as to the young woman's power or aptitude."

Albus clapped his hands together . "We had best get started then. We have a lot to accomplish."

The Headmaster had seemed eager enough, but Severus saw something in his expression. "You are troubled, Headmaster?"

"No. No trouble." Albus shook his head and then stood. "I'll find Miss Granger and send her in."

* * *

"You wanted to see me?" Hermione asked, as she stepped through the door.

Filius beamed at her. "Yes, my dear. Come in, come in."

She entered, looking slightly suspicious at the enthusiastic greeting. It was a sentiment that Severus heartedly approved of and which few Gryffindors ever seemed to employ. He counted it as another sign of her intelligence that she eyed Filius warily.

Looking between the two of them, she finally settled her gaze on him. "Sir?"

Severus nodded to the Charms professor. "Professor Flitwick has determined that your idea will work."

"That's good, then."

"Oh, it's excellent. Very excellent," Filius said, practically gushing in his praise. "Unfortunately, it will also require that someone besides Professor Snape cast the spell through the Dark Mark. In order to do that, we need someone that Professor Snape shares an Affinity with. He tells us that you share that Affinity."

"I-" she glanced over again at him. "Yes, I . . . we do."

Filius beamed at her.

* * *

The whole house was thrumming with anticipation and excitement as everyone talked about the discovery made by Miss Granger and confirmed by Severus and Dumbledore. They had a way to defeat the Death Eaters. They had a way to single out Voldemort from his followers so that Harry could face the monster one to one. There was still the chance for defeat. Everyone knew that. They were pinning their hopes for victory on the skill of a boy against a proven madman that wasn't even really human anymore but they, at least, had hope to pin now.

There was still a lot to be done. Filius was working with Granger and Severus to craft the complicated spell that would be used to take out all those that wore the Dark Mark. It was a layered charm whose complications and delicacies had Filius practically vibrating in place at the challenge.

Now, Miranda wanted to see what this new information would do to her matrix. Waving her hand, she cleared one of her work blackboards. Taking a deep breath, she pulled a small piece of white chalk from her pocket and began to write. As always when she worked, she felt herself sink down into the calculations, the numbers and symbols flowing effortless from her hands. The equations merged with magic, flowing easily from her when the numbers balanced and striking discordant notes within when the numbers were incorrect. Time slowed and the outside world faded away until it was just the numbers and Miranda and her magic all swirled together.

An indeterminable time later she added the final symbol. Rubbing at eyes gone dry from lack of blinking with one hand, she dropped her piece of chalk and stretched out her cramped hand, popping her knuckles and groaning at the sensation. Stepping back a few paces to take in the whole calculation, she narrowing her eyes at some of the subsets. The whole balanced, every variable was taken into consideration, yet, the equation seemed . . . odd.

Frowning, she pulled her wand and made the complicated gesture that manifested the matrix as a three dimensional representation. It took her a few minutes to realize what she was seeing. "No. That can't be right. Merlin's balls, that can't be right."

An impatient wave of her hand dissolved the matrix and she turned back towards the equation, her eyes rapidly scanning back over the calculation, searching frantically for an error that wasn't there. "Shite!" Grabbing up her robe, she sprinted from the room, running down the long hallway and up the flight of stairs to the room that Severus had taken as his own. She pounded the heel of her hand against the door. "Open the door, Snape."

The door snapped open to a clearly furious Snape. "Good gods, woman. It is the middle of night. What are you about?" Severus Snape stood before her in a long, grey nightshirt, his hair disheveled, and a fierce scowl upon his face.

"The equations. The rogue. You and Miss Granger. You need to see this."

Both of Snape's eyebrows rose. "Now?" he asked in an incredulous voice. "This could not wait until . . . I don't know, the sun was up in the sky?"

"Now, you git," she growled back, her temper snapping.

Severus's lips twisted into a snarl that reminded her strongly of Hagrid's dog, Fang, but he gave a stiff incline of his head. "Give me a moment." Closing the door, she heard his movements on the other side of the room, but he was back dressed in black pants and a somewhat wrinkled white shirt within a minute or two. "Lead on," he said, gesturing down the hallway.

Turning on her heel, she stomped off. She couldn't hear him behind her, and she was tempted to turn and make sure he was following, but she refrained from checking on him. Entering her own rooms once again, she stepped aside and pointed imperiously at the swirling matrix that still spun lazily in the middle of her room. "There!"

* * *

**Author's Note 3:** Like I mentioned at the top, kind of blah and lots of scene changes. Also, I know that Hermione went a little over the top giddy when Snape called her Hermione, but for our ever-repressed, emotionally stunted Potion's master, that's practically a declaration of feelings and she knows it.

Aaannd, I know lots of writers get all weirded out when readers dare to correct them, but my ego is secure. If you find any mistakes (and you are bound to because no beta has set eyes on this thing yet), feel free to send them to me. I promise not to cry.


	44. Ch 42: and Two Steps Back

**Author's Note 1: **While I read (and try) to respond to most of my reviews, I don't really pay attention to the number of them because I answer them through the email URL. I don't go to the website. It has been pointed out to me that I've hit 6,000 reviews. OMG! You guys rock. . . and you're totally insane. I'm just saying. :-)

Thanks to Melusin for the beta help. She made two (TWO!) passes through this chapter just so that you guys would not be overwhelmed with bad commas, missing words and horrendous grammar. Also, FFN is screwed up and isn't letting me respond to reviews via the usual URL link in the review notification emails. I can respond via the Private Messaging feature but that only works if you have it turned on. So, while I usually try to respond to almost all reviews (especially ones that ask questions or make a telling point), I may not get to you this time around. Stupid FFN.

* * *

**Chapter 42: . . . and Two Steps Back**

"It is three in the bloody morning," Snape growled out. "What exactly is the overly dramatic _THERE!_ pointing to? And be quick about it before I go back to my bed."

Miranda scowled back at him. "I swear," she grumbled, not quite under her breath. "Don't you people pay attention when I go over these equations? You're all like a bunch of first years – 'ooh, look at the pretty, swirling lights'."

Snape folded his arms across his chest and managed to look both amused and annoyed at the same time. "Have you quite finished?"

She glared at him and then huffed, "Yes," while trying very hard to ignore his self-satisfied smirk.

"So, the _there_?"

She resisted the urge to point to the matrix, knowing it would be pointless. "Because I know what it means. I know what _everything_ means. Granted, I don't have the timing down yet, but I understand the players and what's coming."

Snape was looking a lot more awake now and marginally more interested. "And that is?"

"Do you remember when you 'brewed' the matrix?"

He gave a shrug that could have been interpreted as a yes. "I believe, at the time, we cut out most of the participants that we'd normally expect to be part of the confrontation with the Dark Lord and his followers."

Miranda nodded. "Exactly. What we came up with then was that the key participants were Messrs Potter and Weasley, the Death Eaters, You-Know-Who, the house-eves, you, myself, Miss Granger, Filius and the rogue line."

"Congratulations, then. Your equations have come to fruition." He turned to leave.

She grabbed his arm. "You really are an arse." He shook off her hand, but didn't try to leave again. She continued, "It's more than that. At the time, Filius' involvement didn't make much sense, but I think we all understand now how he fits, as well as Miss Granger and yourself. From what Miss Granger has said of the house-elves, and how they've forced the confrontation away from Hogwarts, they are fairly well explained as well. The exclusion of the Order . . . Well, there are few enough of us left that aren't dead, captured, or in hiding." She frowned. "I still don't understand why Albus isn't represented. That worries me."

"None of which explains what you are so bloody worked up over, and why you had to awaken me at this ungodly hour."

She turned her frown on him. "One of the largest mysteries that I couldn't explain was the rogue line," she said through gritted teeth. "It appeared and disappeared as if it were under its own control. Nothing I did changed it, and yet _it_ changed. It grew. It retreated. It was organic, in a way. And then there was the fact that your life consistently blinked in and out of existence past a certain point."

"The confrontation between Potter and the Dark Lord." He made a vague gesture with his hand. "I've never had much faith in living past that point."

"Yes, well, on a good day, some of us would like you to." For just a moment, she thought Snape looked both startled and a little pleased at this pronouncement, but then his indifferent expression once again masked his true thoughts and feelings.

"Again, Vector, do you have a point to all this?"

Miranda ground her teeth together. "You are the most exasperating man. How she–" She stopped and took a deep breath. "You are going to die."

He stared at her, his expression never shifting.

"Did you hear me? This plan we've come up with . . . it kills you, Snape. Your line in the matrix doesn't blink anymore. From the point where the confrontation starts, you die."

"While I do not doubt that is possible, the charm that Granger is using is not a fatal one; it is a simple stunner. Flitwick determined that we stood the best chance of success with using a simple charm, something that required very little power, past the initial boost, of course, to send the spell through the link."

"I'm not saying it's the spell, or even Granger casting it, that kills you. She, and the spell, might have nothing to do with it, or they might have everything to do with it. I work in probabilities, not predictions, although to the layman it often looks to be the same thing. What I am saying is that when that battle starts, once we put this plan into action, according to my numbers, you're dead by the end of it."

Miranda watched as Snape reached up and rubbed hard at the bridge of his nose, his eyes tightly closed. When he finally dropped his hand and opened his eyes, his expression was still the expressionless calm of the master spy. "Have you awakened the Headmaster, yet?"

Miranda shook her head. "No. I came to you as soon as I figured it out. I'll have to go over this with Albus, but I thought you should know first."

Giving her a nod, Snape turned and pulled his wand, setting silencing and non-interference spells across the room. Once done, he turned back to her. "Show me what you have."

Pulling her wand, she muttered the correct incantation and waved her wand in a very precise pattern. Several of the blackboards scattered around the room glowed momentarily. In the middle of the room, the matrix blinked out of existence and then reappeared. This time, only a few lines were visible. "It's best if you see the whole progression. It makes more sense that way." When Snape nodded, Miranda continued. "This is the barebones of the matrix. It represented Mr Potter, you, Potter, Weasley and Granger as a set, the Death Eaters, the Dark Lord and the Order. This is where it began. You'll notice that there is no rogue line." She used her wand to point to the nexus of the lines. "This was the coming conflict."

"When was this taken?"

"This is the matrix as it was represented at the end of Mr Potter's first year at Hogwarts." She waved her wand again. This time a second matrix appeared. "This is one of the first sets of equations that I ever ran. Notice that is it almost identical to the one taken during Potter's first year. So, for all our knowledge of what was to occur, nothing in the past seventeen years has made much of a differenc from the time Albus had me run my first equations when Potter first defeated You-Know-Who."

Snape snorted. "Potter didn't defeat anyone. Lily Potter defeated the Dark Lord. _Harry Potter_ survived him."

Miranda let Snape's words go without comment. She'd never understood the boy's ability to get under Snape's skin, but now was not the time to question it. "Right. Anyway, the point is that except for a few minor changes over the years, the probability matrix didn't vary. It didn't change until midway through Mr Potter's sixth year." Miranda flicked her wand sixteen times, each flick jumping the matrix forward in time. "Here," she said with a final flick of her wand.

Snape took a step forward, studying the matrix. He pointed up to the far corner where a wayward line had appeared. "This I know. This is when the rogue was introduced."

"Correct. There was no sense in it. Nothing significant had changed in sixteen years. Sixteen years, Snape – and in all that time not a single new variable. And now suddenly, I have an anomaly. One I can't account for, or control, or even bloody well identify."

"But you did modify the matrix after that. Something obviously changed."

"Something." She sent him a sidelong glance, but he was focused on the matrix and didn't notice her look. "Due to a few other things that happened last year, I realised that Granger and Weasley were more important individually than anyone had previously realised." She flicked her wand again, and the matrix jumped once more, two new lines appearing. "But you see, I was wrong. Everything I know about Arithmancy said that the new additions should have cancelled out the rogue. It didn't. I couldn't understand why. Now I do. You see, I thought it began there. That was my mistake. It began earlier. Much earlier in the year."

"You have been spending too much time in the Headmaster's company. You're spouting cryptic nonsense."

"Oh, stop being dense. This is all about you and Hermione Granger." Snape reared back from her as if she'd hexed him, his already pale complexion going impossibly whiter. His reaction was telling and fit with some other things she was thinking, but she didn't want to alienate him. She held up one hand, her palm up and open. "Peace, Snape. I'm not insinuating anything or accusing you of any impropriety."

She watched Snape cross his arms across his chest. "Then what exactly _are_ you saying."

"That I spoke with Filius, and we went back over some things that had puzzled both of us. Miss Granger started changing her behavior last year. Of course, that isn't unusual. We deal with children and watch them mature all the time. So really, no one thought anything of it. Or if they did, it was simply a girl growing and settling into herself as a young woman. However, in Miss Granger's case, I don't think that was all of it. She had a focus."

Snape gave a resigned sigh. "You believe that focus was me."

"Yes. And don't scowl so. That's part of why my equations were off. I didn't begin it soon enough. I thought her inclusion began with her teaching that Potions study group of hers. It didn't. Somehow, someway, Miss Granger... I don't know. She _saw_ you."

"Of course, she saw me. I was her bloody Potions professor." Miranda raised a brow at him, and he made a noise that sounded faintly like a growl. "Fine. It has become apparent that much of what changes Granger made, she made because of me. As you, and several other teachers noticed last year, Miss Granger's essays changed. They changed because I castigated her on writing more than required. She also stopped raising that damnable hand of hers in class."

"Because she knew it annoyed you. But those are things that _we_ noticed. The real question is what did _you_ notice?"

Snape spun away from her. "Is this really necessary?"

Miranda could see the tense lines of his back and shoulders and knew that to a man as private as Severus Snape, this kind of prying was excruciatingly painful. "Snape. . . Severus, it's not prurient interest. I told you once before that I thought that the girl cared for you."

He made another low growling noise, his back still to her. Ignoring her comment on Granger's feelings, he responded only to their interactions. "Miss Granger and I had several encounters last year." He turned back towards her, but kept his face averted, his hair hiding his expression from her sight. "As you say, these encounters happened earlier in the year, before I knew she was teaching the Potions study group. But they were completely innocent. She began a campaign to greet me. Later, she started teaching Longbottom Potions. She asked for my help with a brewing problem and . . ." He trailed off, a frown on his face.

"And?" she prompted.

He hissed in obvious disgust. "And I call myself a spy. I am as blind as Potter." He was suddenly in motion, pacing across the small room with quick, short steps. "I am an idiot, and she . . . oh, she is far more Slytherin than anyone has given her credit for. The sneaky little–"

It amused Miranda that Snape sounded more impressed than angry, his earlier mortification at revealing his interactions with Hermione Granger forgotten. But then again, for the Head of Slytherin, cunning was a virtue. "You've obviously just realised something. What are you thinking?"

His pacing stopped. "I suspect that last year was also when she began her infiltration of the house-elves."

Miranda laughed. "Infiltration? You make it sound like she was waging some kind of guerilla war against you."

"That was exactly what she was doing. My food changed," he said with heavy exasperation colouring his voice. "Only the house-elves could have done that, and only with outside direction. They would not have thought to do it on their own."

"Your food?" Miranda asked, puzzled. "Why would she change your food?"

Snape waved her off. "The reason is inconsequential. She did. She also got into my rooms."

This was information that Miranda had not heard, and she briefly wondered why Granger wasn't dead and buried somewhere. Then she realised that _this_ was what had probably caused the rift between Snape and Hermione. Her own curiosity prompted her. "Did she take something? That seems rather unlike her."

Snape let out a silent snarl. "She did not take anything. She . . . left something. But again, the reasons she did it, and what she left, are not the point. She perceived a need – that I needed something – and she found a way to accomplish it."

A large part of her really wanted to ask Snape what Hermione had done, but she could tell from the snarl still on his face that prying wouldn't get her anywhere. Letting go of her curiosity, she swung the conversation back to the matrix and why she'd awakened him in the middle of the night. "Okay, so you understand that Miss Granger is at the heart of this?"

"I thought Potter was at the heart of this. He's the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, and the bloody Savior of the Wizarding World."

"You're wrong," she said, shaking her head. "We've all been wrong. Or maybe, not wrong, but too focused on Mr Potter. Don't misunderstand, Harry Potter is the one that is fated, although I think it's more like cursed, to take on You-Know-Who. But, he's just the spell, you see. It is everyone else that is the wand that aims him. All of which brings us back to the matrix, to you and to Hermione Granger."

He gave her a sour look, arms crossed protectively over his chest. "You are telling me that the rogue is Granger."

Miranda laughed a little. "Yes and no. The rogue is a variable that I didn't account for." Snape's shoulders hunched forward as if protecting himself from a blow he knew was coming. Miranda softened her voice, not sure exactly how he was going to take her news. "She's in love with you."

Snape flinched and then went so still that Miranda wasn't even sure he was breathing. But he needed to hear this so she pressed on. "I saw it as a separate line and thought it was a separate equation. It wasn't. The rogue was like a shadow that was being thrown by the rest of the matrix because I didn't understand Miss Granger. She got close to you. Because of her closeness, she got to know you. The choices she's made, her decisions, everything relates to her feelings for you. It's why the rogue was on a collision course with your matrix line."

Snape slowly straightened, his face like stone. "You are mistaken."

"No. Would you have known she shares an Affinity with you? Would she have understood the house-elves enough to offer them up as a way to rescue Death Eater targets? Would the elves have even listened if Granger hadn't been involved with them? If Granger didn't understand you, would Mr Potter still be using the Dark Arts? If she hadn't been involved with you, would she have risked what she did to get Healer Alverez? If she hadn't been involved with you, would she have made the connection between your Dark Mark and the other Death Eaters?" She stopped and took a deep breath. "Every step, every decision, every turn left instead of right has been influenced by Hermione Granger and her feelings – her growing love – for you."

"No. I acknowledge that she _cares_ for me. But her interest is solely that of a student for her mentor. She simply has taken an interest in my well-being, nothing more. Much as she did with that ridiculous campaign she had regarding the house-elves."

"Severus, you can't ignore this. . ."

"I am not ignoring it. I am disagreeing with your interpretation."

"Severus—"

"No," he snarled, his frozen mask cracking. "Inform Albus of your findings. Tell him the girl cares for me. Tell him whatever you want."

Miranda eyed him warily. "And Miss Granger?"

"You will tell her nothing."

"We can't tell her nothing, Severus. She'll cast this spell, and you'll die. What then?"

"So you would tell her beforehand and let her begin the spell knowing I will die? How is that any kinder? There will be those that survive that will see her though any lingering grief."

She stared at him in disbelief. "Lingering grief?" she finally choked out. "Did you miss the part where I told you she's in love with you?"

His response was quick and vehement. "She is NOT in love with me."

"For the love of . . . are you listening to me? The fact that she loves you is at the heart of this. It's part and parcel of you dying."

"And you are not listening to me. It makes no difference. This plan is the best one we've had that ensures the Dark Lord's much anticipated demise. I will not jeopardize that. You will not jeopardize that. If I breathe my last at the hands of Hermione Granger, then so be it."

* * *

"Try it again, Miss Granger."

Severus watched as Hermione performed the wand movement again, her pronunciation of the spell clear and precise. She and Flitwick were practicing the first part of what would be their solution to take out the Death Eaters. The Dark Mark was a complicated weaving of multiple spells. Each spell, or spell fragment, contributed to the whole, but performed separate functions: one to listen for the sound of the name Voldemort, one to link the Death Eaters together, another which allowed the Dark Lord to leech the magical strength of the Death Eaters. According to Filius, there were at least a dozen spells that made up the core of the Dark Mark, and he was both envious and awed at the complexity of the spell. He'd been muttering for days about how much of a waste Tom Riddle had made of his life if he'd had the ability to create this type of charm.

In order to allow Hermione to practice first, Filius had charmed a succession of pillows with an ever more complex interweaving of spells similar to those within the makeup of the Dark Mark. It was the last of Dark Pillows, as Hermione insisted on referring to them, that Hermione was trying to pick through now with the help of a visualization spell. It was now time for her to start working with Severus himself, and he wasn't sure if he was ready. The pillow exercise had given him three days to work through his feelings and thoughts regarding Vector's announcement. He'd used those three days to try to regain his perspective. He'd also managed, with careful maneuvering, to avoid being alone with Hermione. His reprieve was at an end.

"Yes, excellent," Filius said, patting her gently on the shoulder. "I think you've got a fair hand for it now." From where he was perched on a chair at her shoulder, he used his wand to point. "See the layering of the spells that make up the whole? Now, this is the layer that we're interested in. See how it twists and turns. You'll want to avoid sending any magic through these others here, though. You'll need to practice with Professor Snape, of course, so you get a feel for the visualization that will be necessary to cast our spell back through the Dark Mark. But you're doing fine. Just fine."

Hermione looked from Flitwick over to Severus and back to Flitwick. "And you're sure that the Dark Lord won't detect any tampering with the Mark? He won't notice that we're scrying it?"

Flitwick jumped down from the chair he'd been using. "He shouldn't notice a thing. The visualization spell is strictly user-based. But, even if he did notice any magical spillover, with you sharing an Affinity with Professor Snape here, You-Know-Who shouldn't be able to tell that it is you casting magic rather than Professor Snape using his own magic. There is, after all, a certain amount of power bleed through the Mark that is always happening. I rather suspect that to You-Know-Who, it has become a constant background hum that he hardly notices anymore. Only the triggering of any of the Mark's sub-spells or a massive magical spike in power would attract his attention now."

Hermione looked less than sure and still a little worried. _Worried for my safety_. It seemed such an odd thought. But she did care. For him. He'd had ample proof of that from her. He wanted Vector to be wrong. He wanted it to be something other than love. Anything but love. He had offered her knowledge and learning. He wanted to say that it was infatuation. There had been enough students over the years with crushes that it wasn't completely outside the realm of possibility.

But watching her now, he felt somehow _lightened_. It was a feeling he'd not had in a very long time, and he knew, without a doubt, that Vector had spoken a very inconvenient truth. Not that it mattered. That part of what he'd told Vector was true. He wasn't stupid, and he could admit to himself that he was lonely. He'd spent the last three days coming to terms with the fact that he felt an attraction towards Hermione in return. But that was all. Simple attraction, based on the fact that she was young and innocent, and Merlin forbid, _liked him_. He wouldn't allow it to be more than that, and he certainly couldn't let it continue. He might have been a bastard, but he wasn't a completely cold-hearted bastard. There was no reason for her to suffer unnecessarily at his death. He'd decided that he would simply dissuade her of any more tender feelings because he certainly couldn't return them or encourage her. It was for her own sake and, he was honest enough to admit, for his own.

He'd been able to follow Dumbledore's orders all these years because he had nothing to live for except seeing Potter defeat the Dark Lord. Hermione Granger was dangerous. He'd always known it. He just hadn't known what kind of danger she presented. His days of contemplation had shown him all too clearly that he couldn't allow himself to love Hermione. He couldn't be given something to _live_ for. Give him something to live for beyond memory and old love, and he didn't know if he'd be able to lie down and die. Even for Dumbledore. Even for Lily.

Hermione glanced over at him again, bottom lip caught between her teeth in an obvious sign of worry for him. "If you're sure."

Flitwick gave her a warm smile. "As sure as we can be, Miss Granger. I don't think you, or Severus here, have anything to worry about. Now, I need to meet with Professors Vector and Dumbledore regarding some of the timing of everything." He gave a short bow in Severus' direction. "I leave you in the capable hands of Professor Snape. You need to work on the visualization spell and make sure you are very comfortable with the Mark's spell layers. Just come and find me if you run into any complications or see something you don't recognise."

Then Flitwick was gone, and they were alone in the suddenly too small room. Hermione was watching him with wide eyes and an open, trusting expression that made something in his chest hurt. He wanted . . . But that was the danger – he wanted her, wanted her promise and her trust and that future just out of his reach. Everything was just at his fingertips and once again denied him. Anger swept though him then at the supreme unfairness of it all. He scowled, only to find himself further vexed when Hermione grinned at him in response. "We should begin," he said, and then kicked himself for stating the obvious. It was an indicator of just how off-balance he felt.

"Of course," she said with a dip of her head, and not the scathing retort he would have made if someone had said something so banal to him. Leaning over from the chair she was still sitting in, Hermione grabbed another worn and faded pillow from the couch. Settling the pillow in her lap, she indicated the couch in front of her. "It would be easier if you sat here and rested your arm on the pillow." She smiled at him again. "We might as well be comfortable while we do this."

Her actions and words were innocent enough, but every instinct he had was screaming at him that this was a bad idea. Knowing he was well and truly trapped, and feeling somewhat ridiculous, he took his place on the couch, his back stiff and straight. She was watching him with a faintly puzzled expression, though her eyes were warm.

"Relax. I'm not going to hurt you, you know."

The feeling of being caught in a trap intensified. She knew him too well now. "Hurt is relative," he finally said.

A corner of her mouth turned up. "Then I intend you no harm," she said, reaching forward to catch his hand.

His arm locked against her pull, and she turned a surprised gaze to him. He found his heart pounding hard beneath his ribs, and he was unable to meet her eyes. He'd lived with the Mark for over twenty years, and he'd made a sort of peace with it, and himself, a long time ago. To do otherwise would have driven him insane. He'd shown the Mark to Fudge with more anger than shame a little more than two years ago. He'd sat in this very room and laid his arm bare to both the Headmaster and to Flitwick, and yet now, he was reluctant to show his arm and, subsequently, his sordid past to her. It was the very thing he needed to do in order to turn her against him, and yet, he didn't want to lose her good opinion of him. _How pathetic am I to fear being judged by one Gryffindor girl, and how utterly impossible is the trap I've found myself in? Damned if I do, and damned if I don't._

"Stop it!"

His eyes jerked reflexively to hers where he found her scowling at him.

"Stop it," she repeated. "Do you hear me? I can practically see the guilt rising in you, so just stop it! Whatever you're thinking . . . just stop," she finished with a rush.

He stared at her in amazement, his own disquiet momentarily forgotten before he remembered the need to deter her feelings for him. This, then, was his opportunity. "I have done such things as to make you weep. Other Death Eaters walk in fear of me and curry my favour. I stand as possibly the most hated teacher in Hogwarts' history. Former students, years from my classroom, still stammer in my presence."

She gave him a slow smile that sent ripples of warmth through him even as he fought them. "I don't care about who you were, only about who you are now."

He found himself staring at her again, trying to read the truth in her words. She met his gaze fearlessly, and for a moment, he was tempted to delve into her mind to read her true intentions. Rather than risk his own control, he shifted his gaze to look back down at his still locked forearm. "You are more forgiving than most."

"Then they are fools," she said quietly in return.

_She was not making this easy for him_. "Some leopards _do not_ change their spots. They simply become better at hiding them."

"Are you trying to scare me? If you are, you can stop."

He shook his head. _Foolish woman_. "I'm trying to warn you."

"Then I am warned. And that does not change the fact that I have a job to do." She gave him another impish smile and reached for his hand again, this time catching his palm. Her fingers were soft and warm against his own. Tugging slightly, she lowered his arm so that it stretched down between them, palm upwards.

Hermione stared at his arm for a few seconds before she finally moved, smoothing her hand down the sleeve of his coat to straighten out the wrinkles and align the small row of buttons that marched in orderly fashion along the outside seam. The very air seemed to grow heavy between them, and Severus opened his mouth slightly to suck in a much needed breath.

She must have sensed something for she brought her eyes back up to meet his for a moment before letting out a shaky, nervous breath. Dropping her eyes again, she brought both hands to the row of buttons. Taking hold of the fabric, she gave a little tug and slipped the first black pearled button from its loop. He noted that her hands were shaking.

Neither of them spoke as she slipped each button from its loop and then folded back the black of his coat. She let out a little sound of amusement when she revealed the soft white linen beneath. Again, she smoothed her hand down his arm, straightening out the fabric and the much shorter row of buttons on the shirt. This time, he could feel the warmth of her hands through the thin fabric of the shirt.

The breaths he'd struggled with ceased entirely as she slipped the three buttons free and folded back his shirt, her fingertips brushing against his skin. The flesh of his inner arm was almost as white as his shirt, the blue of his veins showing faintly through the thin skin of his wrist. But it was the Mark that pulled in his attention and undoubtedly hers. It was a black, ugly stain upon his skin, its malevolence almost a physical force in the room.

Her fingertips brushed over his skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. "Did it hurt?"

This, then, was his opportunity to break any tender feelings she had for him. "I was proud the day it was branded into my arm. It was the culmination of everything I'd work towards. I'd proved myself and was about to given the highest honour – the Mark that forever tied me to my fellow witches and wizards in the cause."

Her thumb ghosted along the edges of the Mark. "Only the most powerful and loyal were given the Mark."

"Yes." He swallowed the bile that wanted to rise along with his memories. He was not nearly as comfortable with those memories as he was pretending to be.

"I hate the Headmaster sometimes."

"What?" he asked in confusion.

Her thumb continued its movement, the sweep of flesh against flesh both a distraction and an unused to comfort. "What would you have been if he'd not written you off? What if he'd seen everything in you that the Dark Lord did? He just let you go, without even trying."

He shook his head. "I cannot say that I would have heeded the Headmaster in those days. It matters not, anyway. The past cannot be changed. I sold my soul to the devil, Hermione. It's time to pay up."

* * *

I sold my sold to the devil, Hermione. It's time to pay up.

Hermione stared at him, the words hanging ominously between them and shattering the tension that had been building between them as she unbuttoned the arm of his coat. He was doing it again, pulling away from her and distancing himself. He'd been doing it for days. It wasn't like the cold, angry distance he'd shown when he'd found the sheets. It was more subtle than that, and something she wasn't even sure she would have noticed he was doing if studying Severus Snape hadn't become a bit of a passion with her. Something had changed; she could feel it.

She brushed her thumb along the edge of the Mark again. "You didn't answer my question," she finally said. "Did it hurt?"

His gaze focused on the Mark. "I have been hit by any number of curses and hexes over the years. Nothing I've ever felt has come close to having the Mark seared into my arm." His voice sharpened. "You should begin the visualization spell."

Unsure of his mood, she performed the visualization spell on the Mark, laying bare its complex layers and interwoven sub-spells. It really was a most extraordinary weaving. Sorting though the layers, she sought the thread of magic that controlled the linkage between the Death Eaters. Each time she caught the thread and tried to follow it, she found herself getting lost. "This is not . . ."

"What is the problem?"

She jumped slightly. She'd been so engrossed in the problem before her that she'd forgotten he was there. "It's not like the Dark Pillows," she explained. "Those spells were closed with beginnings and endings. They were easy to trace. I can't tell where these begin or end."

"That's because they do not _begin_ in the traditional sense since the Mark is fused with my own magic. It's why only someone with an Affinity to me would be able to do what we are attempting." He sat back slightly, studying her, and then abruptly leaned forward again. "Do you remember the _Vere Veneficus_ spell?"

"The spell you used to show the Muggle-borns how their magic flows through them?"

"Correct. Cast _Vere Veneficus_. It will show you how the Mark is tied into my magic and where you will need to apply the Order's stunning spell."

Feeling a surge of excitement, Hermione performed the spell. "My God," she breathed as Severus' magic simmered into view. She'd always known that Severus Snape was a powerful wizard, but seeing the proof before her with the revealing was something else again.

"Granger?"

He seemed so calm and so still to have all that power raging just beneath his skin. Biting her lip, she refocused her attention. "Oh! It's everywhere." Her eyes now traced multiple threads leading out from the Mark. Each layer and sub-spell that made up the Mark was tied into the various magical Chakra points.

"Say his name."

Her eyes flew up to his. His expression was blank and unreadable. "Say his name," he repeated.

"But –"

"Do it," he snapped.

Her heart was beating hard enough to echo in her ears. Something was wrong. Severus was wrong. She didn't understand what he was doing, or why, but she did as he asked. "Voldemort."

The word hung in the air between them. At first, nothing seemed to happen until the black mass at the heart of the spells that made up the Mark appeared to pulse. A tendril of blackness flowed from the Mark and back into the Chakras of Severus' body in reverse of how magic usually flowed _out_ of the body. Then it flowed back to the Mark before flaring with a brief burst of magic. She saw it as the magic activated – the twist of spells and sub-spells that linked each individual Death Eater to the Mark, and through it to each other, and ultimately to the Dark Lord himself.

She understood so much now as she turned horror-filled eyes to him. What she was looking at was unimaginable. "It's not just linked; it's a part of you. It's . . . it's feeding off you – using your magic like some kind of twisted parasite."

He smirked at her. A true smirk full of some twisted emotion she'd not seen him express in a long time. "Poor innocent, Granger," he purred. "You keep thinking that I'm better than I am – some noble hero to pin your hopes and dreams on. If you want a hero, look to Potter. I don't just feed the Mark, but in many ways, it feeds Dark Magic back into me. I am tarnished. I am tainted. Even if you cut my arm from my body, the damage is done." He was suddenly up and off the couch, the pillow falling between them to the floor. Four quick steps put him on the far side of the room, his arms crossed across his chest, as he hissed at her. "I did tell you, _Hermione_ that some leopards simply hide their spots better. You have a job to do and a spell to cast. You are not here to save my immortal soul. This is no romance where Beauty saves the Beast. And I have neither the time nor the patience for your schoolgirl crush." The words were dismissive, the kinds of things said to a child playing at grown-up games.

Hermione's heart and head both reeled in shock, unable to comprehend this attack. By Slytherin standards, she'd made plain her feelings to Severus days, weeks, ago. While he'd not pulled her into his arms like in some fairytale, he'd also not exactly pushed her away, either. She'd been slow and careful in how she approached him, knowing that any Gryffindor acts of love would send him running. This wasn't running, this was attacking. She was hurt and confused. None of this made sense. He'd been pulling away, yes, but she hadn't expected these hateful words.

Just when she felt ready to bolt from the room in tears, she remembered: Words. Severus Snape knew how to lie with words better than anyone she'd ever known; it was his actions that spoke the truth. Forcing herself to look past her own hurt, she saw a man wound tight enough to snap. Both fists were balled tight, and the arms crossed across his chest had more the look of defence rather than belligerence. He was lying to her, trying to drive her away and she didn't understand why. She also realized she wasn't going to let him. He thought to shock her into running or lashing out at him. She did neither as she let out a soft chuckle. "Schoolgirl crush? I passed crush back at the beginning of the year."

His eyes widened in shock, and her hand flew up to her lips as if to catch the words and force them back down. They hung there between them, heavy in the silence. Hermione slowly dropped her hand, keenly aware of how his eyes followed the movement. "It started innocently enough, you know," she began softly. She looked down; her hands twisted as her fingers knotted together. "But it was innocent. I didn't even like you at first. I did it because it wasn't fair. It made me mad." She raised her head and met his eyes boldly. "Then it became a crush; but just a little one. It was everything a schoolgirl crush could be – hearts and flowers and the dashing, romantic, brooding spy." She laughed, although there wasn't much joy in it. "Okay, maybe not the hearts and flowers. But Jane Eyre would have been proud."

"I am not some hero from a Muggle novel." His voice sounded thick to her ears, unlike his usual silky tones.

"Agreed. You are so much more than that. You're human and everything that entails." She gave a somewhat rueful shake of her head, remembering her younger self's daydreams. _Younger self, indeed. How strange that a year can seem a lifetime_. "I don't know what you think you're doing, but it's not going to work. I know you, Severus Snape. You can't scare me, you can't shock me, and you can't make me not care for you. That _thing_ on your arm has twisted you and your Magic. But you've risen above it. You are a better man than you give yourself credit for being."

He was looking at her like he'd never seen her before. For some reason, it made her feel powerful. He clearly wasn't expecting this from her, which was silly of him, really, because she'd made how she felt about him perfectly clear. But if he'd ever had doubts, she was about to lay them to rest. Taking the opportunity offered before her, she rose from her seated position and took a step towards him.

"You are a fool. I am trying to ensure that you—"

"What? Survive? Don't get my feelings or my heart hurt? Don't fall in love with you?" she finished for him with a smile. She shook her head at him and took another step forward. Her smile grew larger as he took a corresponding step backwards.

"Miss Granger . . ."

"Hermione. You called me Hermione before."

"Miss Granger," he repeated, more firmly. "You will–"

"Leave?" She took another step as she said the words. "No, I don't think so, Severus." She saw him shudder at her use of his name. "You haven't given me permission to use your name, but I've said it a thousand times in my mind." She tilted her head and gave him a small smile. "I think we're past permissions, anyway."

She took another step forward, this time into his personal space. She was close enough now to feel the heat radiating off his body. "Don't you think, Severus?" She said it one last time, breathing out the word like a caress. "Severus." She was rewarded as a fine tremor shook his entire body.

"You cannot. Please, Hermione. Don't."

This time Hermione was the one to shiver.

The look he was giving her was conflicted: hungry and confused and panicky. She'd promised that she wouldn't hurt him, but somehow she was, and she didn't understand. Reaching up, she placed her palm against his cheek. She wanted him to lean into her, but she wasn't surprised when he flinched instead. She'd never seen another person who was as touch-starved as he was. People needed human contact, even those who vehemently denied it. Maybe especially those that denied that contact.

She'd known it that day when Rink had taken her to his rooms with its colours and textures. He was a sensualist that desperately craved contact, yet didn't trust that anyone reaching out to him would do so without hurting him. It explained his distrust and his aloof attitude that practically screamed 'Do Not Touch.' It also explained why he flinched when others did touch him. That flinch was a subtle gesture, usually expertly hidden beneath a flick of his robes or a casual shift from one foot to another to put him out of range.

Severus Snape, she'd discovered, spoke a body language all his own – muted, soft, often contradictory, yet plain to see if you only had eyes to really look. Her eyes were open, and she'd found that she could no longer close them, or even really wanted to.

She ran her thumb along the side of his mouth, smoothing along the harsh lines. He still looked dazed, and Gryffindor that she was, she took advantage of his confusion while she was able. Rising up on her toes, she brought her lips to his in a whisper-light touch. Pulling back slightly, she stared into stormy black eyes.

She wasn't surprised when hard hands clamped around her biceps, forcibly pushing her away from him. "I will be your downfall," he snarled, the words like gravel, sharp and rough in her ears.

He didn't wait for an answer, but spun and fled out the door, leaving her standing alone in the room. She was shaking. Her senses reeled from the warmth of his body: the scratch of scars and calluses as his hands had slid across the skin of her arms, the mixed smell of herbs and spices she always associated with Severus. She didn't have to close her eyes to remember the look of hunger in his eyes.

_Oh God, the hunger_. Looking down at her tightly clenched hands, she let out a soft huff of amusement. It was no wonder she was still shaking.

And then he'd run from the room. Run from her. She supposed to ought to be offended at that, but she knew better. She knew Severus Snape.

* * *

Miranda nearly jumped out of her skin when Snape burst into her room. His movements were rapid, his left hand clasping and unclasping with quick, staccato movements. He looked like he'd been running, as if the very hounds of hell were on his heels. The man routinely went before the Dark Lord and talked about his death with a nonchalance that made her want to shake him. Something had distressed the man and Miranda wasn't sure if she shouldn't be very afraid. Feeling as if she was opening Pandora's fabled jar, she asked, "Snape?"

He ignored her and turned on Flitwick who was standing in the middle of the room. "Out!" he snarled.

"Severus?"

"Get out. Now."

Flitwick took a step backwards; his expression one of shock. "I –"

Miranda jumped forward. "Perhaps Filius, now is not a good time. Why don't I come and find you later?"

Flitwick looked between the pacing Snape and Miranda. "I believe you are correct. I'll see you later." With a confused look at Snape, Filius fled the room.

Miranda rounded on Snape, disapproval clear in her voice. "What is your problem?"

"It has—" Snape stopped, took a deep breath and let it out again. "It has come to my attention that you may have been correct."

"About what?" Snape was still fidgeting, looking anywhere and everywhere but at her. "Snape?"

"I believe you were correct about Miss Granger . . . and her feelings."

She bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing. She could tell from the expression on Snape's face that he did not consider this a laughing matter, but Merlin bless her, in the face of all this other insanity, she wanted to laugh, even if it might have been a touch hysterical.

* * *

"Hey, Ron?"

Ron's yes never left the board in front of him as he grunted out an acknowledgement.

Harry picked up and toyed idly with a chess piece, much to the annoyance of the pawn in question. "What's up with Hermione?"

It took Ron a minute for the question to catch up with him and penetrate through various chess permutations that were running around in his head. "What?"

"Hermione. She's . . . well, she's . . . and then there's Snape and . . . What's going on?"

Ron took it as a good sign that Harry sounded more bewildered than angry, but his voice had still held more than a bit of hate when he mentioned Snape. This, he decided, was going to be tricky. Going for the stall, he asked, "Where's Ginny?"

Harry frowned at him before giving him a sideways glance. "She's upstairs with the twins. Is this really going to be that bad?"

Ron was reminded again that while Harry could come across sometimes as a bit dense, he was far from stupid. The problem with his best mate was that Harry made his decisions from his heart. Ron heaved a sigh. "Yeah, mate, it might be that bad."

Harry chuckled. "It's okay. Dumbledore and I have been working on some techniques. Just tell me what's going on."

Ron considered the best way to say it and then just blurted it out. "Hermione fancies Snape."

Harry stared at him for a long moment before getting up from his seat. He made a quick circuit around the room, his hands clenched at his side. Coming back to his chair, he stopped and made to sit back down, before he abruptly turned and made another quick walk around the room. As he came back around again, he finally retook his seat. Ron was rather surprised at the evenness of his tone. "Fancies?"

"Fancies. And . . . well, I mean, I can't say for sure or anything, but I think he rather fancies her as well."

Harry's face screwed up in distaste, as if he'd just bit into a snot-flavored Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean. "That's just . . ." Harry seemed to flail around looking for a word to adequately describe the picture in his head.

Ron grimaced in sympathy. "I know.

"But . . . "

"Yeah, that too."

"He's . . ."

"Snape."

Their eyes met and both gave a dramatic shudder. The moment seemed to release some of the tension that Harry was carrying as he plopped back down into his chair. "Snape?"

Ron shrugged. "Really, I'd rather not think about it, but if you do think about, it makes a weird kind of sense."

Harry shook his head. "I always thought Hermione might end up with you."

Reaching up, Ron rubbed at the back of his neck. "Thought that myself a time or two. But, something changed, or maybe Hermione changed. Not exactly sure."

"But he hates us. Hates her."

"Does he? They were . . . talking last year. This year, too. And you saw what he did to Moody. Not to mention, the Headmaster gets this queer look on his face every time he sees them together. Like he knows something, but is pretending he doesn't."

"But . . ."

"You can't butt in, Harry."

Harry's expression went mulish. "He'll do something horrible to her."

Ron sighed. "Probably."

* * *

**Author's Note 2:** Now, before anyone starts sharpening their pitchforks, I ask that you give the author the benefit of the doubt. And that's all I'm saying.


	45. Ch 43: Certain Uncomfortable Truths

**Author's Note 1:** I am not a fan of FFN's new review response method that forces you to send a Private Message. Lots of people have that feature turned off so I can't respond to reviews and it's cumbersome. Who came up with this plan?

**Author's Note 2:** I have the bestest of the best readers. Not only do you guys read and comment (which I adore), but you draw pictures. There is a new deviantArt site where people have placed the artwork that they've been inspired to create. You can find the pictures here: **http: / petprojectcaeria . deviantart . com/** (remove the space first). I highly recommend that everyone go and check out the art and leave comments for the artists. They've done some outstanding work, and I'm humbled down to my toes that my tale could inspire such loveliness.

Oh, and on the subject of having the bestest of the best readers - all you guys that are staying up to the wee hours of the morning, reading the story and then going in bleary-eyed to work or school . . . seriously, you're cracking me up.

* * *

Chapter 43: Certain Uncomfortable Truths

Severus had fled Grimmauld Place immediately after his discussion with Vector. Braving the December cold and holiday cheered Muggles, he hadn't even waited for the _Vere Veneficus_ spell to wear off. Not that any of the Muggles he'd passed on the streets on the way to the 'Brass Monkey' could see the colours, anyway. Now, as he sat at the pub's bar, they'd long since faded away. The Brass Monkey was a Muggle establishment, dark and dank and smelling strongly of old cigarette smoke, stale beer and hopelessness. It also had the best fish and chips he'd ever eaten. He'd been coming here since he'd discovered it when he was seventeen and had walked away from Hogwarts. The atmosphere of the place had suited his mood then, just as it did now. It also didn't hurt that the regulars considered him one of them and knew to leave him mostly alone.

He'd fled to this place to think. Not that he'd actually done much of that as his thoughts kept circling back to two things: Dumbledore and Hermione. The thoughts rolled around in his head seeming to chase each other. _He really should speak with Dumbledore. He really should speak with Dumbledore about Hermione._ He couldn't seem to move from this place, though. Couldn't get up from this bar stool, make his way back to Grimmauld Place, and FIND DUMBLEDORE. His mind and emotions were in turmoil. Nothing was as it should be, and he was no longer sure of his course. He'd sworn an oath to Dumbledore and to Lily Evans' ghost that he would do all that was necessary to protect Potter and see to the Dark Lord's destruction. He'd always known that the chances of his dying were high, but he'd always thought he'd die _doing_ something. That he would, at the very least, go down fighting. To simply lay down for his death – knowing that this, then, was the appointed hour of his death – was disconcerting. He didn't want to die.

It seemed an almost foreign thought, but _he didn't want to die_. Which led inevitably to the other thought that he really should speak with Dumbledore about. Albus had ordered him to do a lot of distasteful things over the years. Bound as he was to his Oath, he could not disobey. Not that he'd thought much of disobeying most times. What he'd done over the years had simply needed doing. But this time . . . this time seemed so different. So far, Albus had not ordered him to continue with their plan even though, by now, Vector would have laid out all the possible permutations and outcomes. Albus had left him alone, and some contrary part of him hated Albus for that. He wanted Albus to use the control of the Oath in this instance, as he had in so many other things over the years, so that he no longer had the choice.

Severus stared down into the watery remains of the one whisky he'd allowed himself. The ice had long since melted, and the originally dark amber liquid was a muted honey colour, almost, but not quite, the colour of Hermione's eyes. And there was the other thought that he was trying so hard to avoid. He groaned as he dropped his head onto an upraised fist. _Merciful Merlin, he was turning into an over-emotional fop. Next, he'd be crying into his drink and writing bad love poetry on the beer mats._

"Another, Professor?"

Severus glanced up as Michaels, the landlord, stopped in front of him. As his Muggle persona wouldn't snap at the man, he shook his head no. "I do not believe another would be wise."

Michaels shrugged, and then asked, "What's 'er name?"

Severus jerked back. "What?"

Michaels laughed and took a swipe at the bar with a rag. "Been behind this bar for almost forty years, Professor. I can tell a man what's lost or found 'is job, 'is woman or 'is God just by the look of 'im. You, Professor, 'ave the look of a man who's found 'is woman." He scowled as Michaels laughed again. "Ain't no bad thing, you know."

"In this case, I would have to disagree," he said, thinking of Hermione, his impending death and the potential role she would play. Severus had never been a man for sharing his private life, and yet, the urge to tell someone – anyone who wasn't Dumbledore – was too strong to ignore. Avoiding the topic of his death as too complicated a subject, he settled on Hermione. "She is young," he began slowly. "And such a mix of innocence and maturity that I seldom know what I'll be dealing with from moment to moment. She's bright and curious and has the uncanny ability to disorder my life without thought. She will not be dissuaded from her course, even though all wisdom says I should . . ." He trailed off, then repeated more decisively, "I should."

Michaels nodded and leaned against the bar. "My da once told me there are two kinds of women – the kind that drive a man to drink and the kind that drive a man to do great things. Always told me that if I found the woman who could do both, that'd be the one to marry."

Severus started to respond, but was cut off with a loud yell from the back. "Hey, Michaels, another couple of pints."

Michaels yelled back. "Get off your lazy arse, Suthers, and come and get it." Michaels grinned at Severus before pushing himself back from the bar. "Sounds like you got one that can do both, Professor. Invite me to the wedding," he said, before heading towards the pumps to pull more pints of beer for the table in the back.

_Invite me to the wedding?_ The thought – the assumption – hit him with a gut churning fear. Was that what this was? Hermione intrigued him. There was certainly an attraction. He'd even admit to a certain amount of lust – he was human, after all. Without the proverbial Sword of Damocles hanging over his head, she'd make a worthy long-term companion and bed partner. But that was certainly all. He loved Lily. He'd never love anyone the way he'd loved her. Hermione, a mere girl, certainly couldn't take the place of Lily in either his heart or soul.

But the doubt was there now, and panic filled him. Had he changed? _His Patronus_.

Pushing away from the bar, he rushed for the door, ignoring the called farewells from within. He had to see – had to know. He didn't . . . he couldn't. Rounding the corner of the pub, he was running now, his breath coming in gasps that sounded loud in his ears. The mouth of the alleyway behind the pub loomed pitch black before him. Pausing only long enough to verify that he was concealed, he pulled his wand. "_Expecto Patronum_." The words were said on a hoarse gasp of air, but the silvery mist that flew from his wand glowed strongly in the darkness. The doe formed as she always had, stamping delicate hooves, as if she were ready to turn and run at a moment's notice.

Severus sagged against the crumbling brick wall of the pub. Lily remained with him. His love for her remained. But with the relief came a vague sense of disquiet. Pushing himself to his feet, he took a step towards his Patronus. The doe danced backwards, watching him with large, liquid eyes that seemed to sparkle with an amusement that had never been there before. His own eyes widened in surprise as the creature suddenly feinted left and then twirled right to circle around him. She was playing with him. His Patronus had never _played_ with him before. He had changed and the knowledge staggered him.

A mirthless laugh bubbled up in him as once again he found himself struggling against the inevitable. Reaching out, he brought his fingertips a hair's-breadth from the doe's muzzle. Lily had been with him for so long. There was a sense of comfort in knowing that even if Hermione was finding a place within his heart, he wasn't going to have to lose Lily. He wasn't sure he could have handled that. The doe tossed her head impatiently and danced her hooves in a silent tattoo against the air where she floated. The movement won a small smile from him as it was so Hermione Granger. Then, with a brush of his fingers against the mist, he dismissed his Patronus.

The need to talk to Dumbledore swept over him again, and with a decisive spin, he Apparated back to Grimmauld Place. As he stared up at the dark house he realized that he'd forgotten the time. It was the wee hours of the morning, and everyone within Grimmauld Place was asleep. He'd have to wait on speaking to Albus. A wave of weariness suddenly swept over him as the past several days of sleeplessness and emotional hit him all at once. It was with a heavy tread that he started towards the door. His head was starting to pound with the beginnings of a headache. Lily, Hermione, Dumbledore, his death - they all needed to be dealt with, and he'd been running from dealing with any of them for too long now. There would be no more running.

As he entered the front door, he felt a sloppily erected alarm spell trip. He found it hard to imagine Albus or Hermione setting anything so shoddy, but there was no doubt that the spell has been keyed to him. Shrugging when no audible alarm sounded, he continued into the darkened house and into the front parlor. Only Albus or Hermione would care enough to want to know when he returned to the house, so maybe one of them _had_ set it. He collapsed back into one of the chairs to wait for whichever wanted him.

Tilting his head back, Severus stared up at the ceiling and contemplated the vagaries of his life - he'd never expected to live and yet found himself now struggling within the ever tightening coils of his own death. He'd always assumed he'd die alone and unwanted. Yet, even that idea had been turned around. Hermione cared, and she would be there at the hour of his death. She'd mourn for him. She'd cry for him. She'd cry _over_ him. His heart, long unused, clenched tight at the idea. He didn't want to cause her distress. He didn't want her to mourn him. _Bloody Patronus. This was so much easier when I could bury my head in the sand._

Scrubbing his hands up through his hair, Severus groaned aloud, taking a certain perverse pleasure in the almost animalistic sound of his frustration and pain. The pain in his head was growing stronger, and it didn't look like whoever had set the alarm spell was coming for him. Levering himself upright, he decided on a cup of tea. He supposed he could just call an elf, but found himself loath to go that route. House-elves generally disliked it when others invaded 'their' territory, but they had been rather accommodating to him lately. A phenomenon that he was sure could be attributed directly back to Hermione. _It always seemed to come back to Hermione_.

Shaking his head to dispel the thought, he headed towards the basement kitchen. He realized he was being followed almost immediately after stepping out into the hallway. He couldn't see through Potter's Invisibility Cloak like Albus, a skill that seemed to come with age, but he wasn't a paranoid bastard for nothing, and Potter - he had no doubt that it was Potter - had forgotten to cast a Silencing Charm. The rustle of cloth as he skulked along behind Severus was enough to reveal his unwanted presence. Not to mention that it would explain the badly cast alarm spell on the door.

He considered forcing the confrontation here in the hallway, but decided against it. The kitchen would provide more privacy, anyway. Stepping into the room, he almost expected to find Hermione sitting at the table, and he promptly dismissed the small stab of disappointment at her absence. He had, after all, been avoiding her both physically and mentally. If she had any sense, she'd be highly annoyed with him, not patiently waiting up for him to appear when he was good and ready. He was going to have to apologize, an act he did with neither grace nor finesse. But first, Potter.

Walking further into the room, he noticed that every elf in the kitchen looked up, with several looking pointedly behind him. So the elves could either see through the Cloak or simply heard Potter, as he did. He gave a minute shake of his head. The Wizarding world had been dismissing these creatures in their midst as harmless for far too long.

Feeling the headache pounding behind his eyes steadily moving to the back of his head, he spun on his heel, then immediately regretted it as the muscles in his neck and shoulders pulled tight in protest. Channeling the pain into his voice, he snarled, "Well?"

Nothing happened. "Potter, I refuse to stand here all night. What do you want?"

The boy pulled off the Cloak with what Severus thought was meant to be a flourish. It lacked something as one of Potter's arms got caught in the folds. He could almost have laughed . . . if he wasn't feeling so wretched, if his life wasn't falling down around his ears, if Lily's eyes didn't stare out at him from a face now glowering in his direction. "Well?" he repeated.

"I don't like you."

He snorted. "Then we are in agreement as I cannot say that I particular like you, either." Severus raised one brow in a calculated move intended to annoy the boy. "If that is all?"

"No. That is not all."

Severus repressed a sigh. The boy was going to be tiresome. But there was no reason he should have to face him without the tea he'd originally come for. _What had been the elf's name?_ "Brolly?"

The elf currently polishing silverware looked up. Severus had the fleeting thought that Hermione would have recognized the house-elf on sight. Resisting the urge to just snap out an order, he attempted a modicum of politeness. "If I might have a pot of chamomile tea?"

Brolly nodded, his ears bouncing as he scurried into the kitchen's small pantry.

Task taken care of, Severus turned back to Potter, who had been alternately fidgeting and glaring through the whole exchange. "Your purpose? Surely you haven't been stalking me just to tell me you don't like me?" he asked in obvious exasperation and no little bit of disdain. "You initiated this delightful little meeting, so speak." Severus watched Potter's face take on that particularly smug expression that James Potter has always worn, as if he were king and emperor and Merlin's gift to wizardkind all rolled into one. He'd hated that expression then. Seeing it again on Potter junior didn't make it any more appealing.

"I don't like you."

This time he didn't hold in the sigh. "Yes, Potter, I believe we have covered that already."

"I don't trust you."

Really, he was getting tired of forever having this conversation, and it was doing nothing for his headache. "My trustworthiness is not for you to decide. If you have doubts, speak with the Headmaster."

"I have."

Severus picked up the steaming teacup placed before him and gave a nod to the elf. He took a calming sip before answering. "Then you have your answer."

Potter, his fists clenched in the fabric of the Invisibility Cloak, took another step into the room. "I have nothing," he hissed. "I have vague assurances and meaningless platitudes about how you loved my mother. Just because you made some pledge after my mother was dead to protect me doesn't change anything. It doesn't make you brave or noble or trustworthy. It just shows that you get people killed."

"Something else we have in common then, Mr Potter." Severus let out a small, chill smile as his own temper began to bubble within him. "Something beyond an affinity for Dark Magic and its incurable taint, that is, because you get people killed as well." _You ungrateful, arrogant little brat. _He didn't need the boy to tell him the price of his sins.

The boy blanched, and Severus felt a small niggle of remorse. He knew the weight that guilt could place on your shoulders, but his anger overrode any regret, especially when Potter continued, shifting his attack to something more current. "What about Hermione? I know what you're doing to her. She's your student."

If mention of his relationship with Lily had angered him, rage now flashed through Severus. "First, I'm doing nothing _to_ Miss Granger. Second, if you haven't noticed, Hogwarts is closed. Miss Granger is no longer my student. Third, if I were so inclined _to do something_, that decision would rest with Miss Granger and myself, not you. So take your sanctimonious assertations elsewhere. And, Mr. Potter, I would offer a word of advice to you. If you are reckless enough to have this conversation with Miss Granger, I would beware. I have noted a tendency toward wandless magic when she is angry. I would not be surprised if sparks were the least of her manifestations. You might want to be very careful."

Potter's expression darkened. "If you hurt her . . ." He trailed off in what Severus thought was supposed to be a menacing tone.

Severus deliberately deepened his voice to show the boy just what menacing sounded like. "Let me guess. If I hurt her, my life is forfeit." He chuckled, the sound slow and dark. "The warning is duly noted, Potter, but I do not believe you will have to worry about carrying it through. Now leave me be."

The boy left in a huff and a slamming door that had the house-elves _tsking_ in disapproval. Severus took a deep breath and counted to ten. Then he counted to ten again in Goblin just for good measure. He was shaking with rage. He glanced mournfully down at his now cold cup of tea. Damn the boy and his need to confront him now. He'd never get to sleep now. As his temper cooled though, he realized that he was being an idiot. All his noble sentiments about pushing Hermione away. All his doubts and fears . . . if he'd still had any doubts, he needed only to look at himself now. The first sign that someone was challenging him over Hermione and he'd lost his control.

Giving his night up as a lost cause, he pushed away the cup of tea. Giving the elves a nod of appreciation, he headed back upstairs. Two minutes later, he'd found the safety of his room. He was careful to not slam the door behind him. Slamming doors would only alert Albus that he was in a temper.

Digging his thumbs into his eyes, he tried to massage away the mounting tension. He could use a glass, or two, of Firewhiskey, but was more afraid of what loosening his inhibitions would release. The one glass of Muggle whisky at the pub had been his limit. He was well aware that his emotional state was all over the map at the moment. He'd learned as a much younger man that alcohol only exacerbated the problem.

He was tired, but didn't think sleep would come. He supposed he could go and harass Vector. The woman kept almost as odd hours as he did. There was a possibility that she was awake. But he wasn't sure he could handle even the odd friendship he'd developed with the Arthimancy professor. She would no doubt press him again about Hermione and, after his confrontation with Potter, he was not sure he was ready to deal with that. Merlin bless, he didn't think he would ever be ready to deal with Hermione, regardless of what his bloody Patronus was doing.

He paced several circuits around his room, attempting to dispel the built up energy running through him. Confrontations with Potter always agitated him, stirring up the old memories and ghosts that under other circumstances he tried so hard to keep buried. Stripping, he changed into the long grey nightshirt that was his preferred sleeping attire. Often times, just the act of removing his day clothes could calm him down, like the proverbial snake shedding too tight a skin. But tonight, even the well-worn soft comfort of the cotton nightshirt was beyond him. He settled on the edge of the bed and lifted up his arm. With a deliberate motion, he pushed up his sleeve and took a good long look at the Mark that decorated his skin. It was ugly and it was terrifying and it was a part of him. Over the years, he'd learned to avoid the Mark. He could go days without _seeing_ it – avoiding mirrors, gazing away as he dressed. Little tricks that let him pretend. Not that he was a man who avoided reality, but sometimes, sanity required . . . distance.

It was painful to have the Mark so openly displayed and talked about. He felt as exposed as his newly bared arm. He lowered it, turning his wrist over so the Mark was hidden. These were not thoughts conducive to sleep. Laying down, he closed his eyes and slowed his breathing, falling into a deep rhythm that had in the past brought relief. Thirty minutes later, he gave up the effort as a lost cause.

A softly voiced Lumnos cast a diffuse light throughout the room. A wordless, and wandless, summons, and his bag sailed from its place in the wardrobe. He hesitated a long moment before opening the case, not sure if he wanted to go down this path. If felt irrevocable, a step that once taken could not be undone. Although, if he was truthful - _never lie to yourself_ - he was fairly sure he had already taken several steps, however unaware they had been.

Grimacing at his own cowardice, he reached into the bag and pulled out the sheets Hermione had created for him. Since he'd first discovered them on his bed, he'd done some research into their creation. It was an elegant and yet simple bit of magic – an almost antithesis to the way Dark Magic was done. The emotion and intent remained, but instead of the darker emotions being used to fuel the spell, it was the purer ones. In his more cynical moments, he'd wondered why the sheets had not gone up in flames the first time he'd laid down on them, a fitting conflagration of Dark and Light meeting at once. But he had to acknowledge that Hermione had meant him no harm. The sheets very creation attested to that. If anything, she'd harmed herself in the making of them.

Too tired to even bother with making the bed properly, Severus flicked the bottom sheet that contained the sigil out until it covered the bed. With a deep sigh that seemed to come from his toes, Severus pulled the sheet up around his shoulders and sank into its magical comfort. As had happened at the school, his body seemed to unwind itself, the tension that had pounded across his temples and down his neck releasing its hold on him. He had a fleeting notion as sleep began to claim him, wondering about Hermione and how it would feel to be wrapped in her arms instead of folds of cloth. _Merlin, he was an idiot,_was his last thought before he drifted off.

* * *

"What are you doing brooding in the dark? Isn't that more Severus' style?"

Dumbledore glared at Arrosa over the tops of his glasses. "I do not brood."

Arrosa barked out a laugh. "No, you plot and scheme. I've known you for almost eighty years, Albus Dumbledore. What is going on in that head of yours?"

Albus shifted on the couch. The truth, though he'd never admit it to Arrosa, was that he had been brooding. Contemplating the woman now and considering their considerable history, he gestured toward the opposite end of the couch. "Sit with me."

When Arrosa was comfortable and looking at him with _that look_, Albus began talking. "Things are not proceeding as I had planned."

Arrosa snorted in mocking amusement. "Life rarely goes as we plan. That's why it's life and not some script we are all following." She shook her head. "Your players have gone off script, haven't they? The girl, Granger, she's at the heart of it all."

"Why do you say that?"

"Did Severus ever tell you about the detention he brought the girl to?"

Albus frowned slightly. "I believe he mentioned it went well, and that the girl had seen what could have been the consequences of her actions. She's quite bright. It wouldn't have taken much."

"_Bright_ I think is an understatement. She's got a good head on her shoulders, that one. As practical and forthright as you could wish any Gryffindor to be."

Albus sent a sour look in her direction. "With a somewhat distressing Slytherin streak that I only now seem to be coming aware of."

"Exactly," Arrosa said with evident delight. "She's the perfect match for Severus. Calculating enough to understand him, but pig-headed enough to not put up with any of his nonsense. It's just what he needs."

Albus jerked upright and then frowned again when he found Arrosa grinning madly at him.

"Yes, Old Man, I'm well aware that something is brewing there. It has been since that detention the girl served last year. Never saw a person so determined to please someone as Hermione Granger was that night. It was a hard night, and she bore the brunt of it, and after everything, she still looked to Severus for approval. You could tell that she always knew where he was in the room and the best times to watch him without being observed." She gave him another wide grin. "It's also obvious now that Severus is just as aware of her, as she is of him. Buttoned-up and reserved Severus is broadcasting his feelings so freely, I'm surprised he's not incandescent with them. I don't think I've ever seen him so out of control." She paused and then added, "Well, out of control for Severus." She shook her head. "That boy needs to get laid in the worst way."

"Arrosa!"

She had the temerity to laugh again at him. "For all your talk about love, you always were such a prude, Albus. I'm also well aware that Severus feels deeply. If he had the right woman, there's nothing he wouldn't do in the name of that love." She paused again. "That's the hold you have on him, isn't it? I've always wondered."

For a second, Albus regretted starting this conversation. Arrosa was too clever by half and had always had the annoying ability to see through even his most carefully wrought plans. It was that singular Slytherin ability, and her vocal disapproval of his admittedly high-handed methods, that had ultimately rent their relationship and friendship apart. "Severus loved Lily Potter," he finally said.

"Potter? Harry Potter's mother?"

"Yes, although she was Lily Evans then. Severus loved her fiercely, but he was also being drawn into the Dark Arts. He was already beginning to fall under the influence of Tom's early followers." He stopped, remembering those long ago days. He'd made mistakes with Severus then. Yet, he wasn't sure that the Order would have survived this long in the fight against Tom without the vital link and intelligence that Severus had provided over the years. Fresh on the heels of the Potters' killing, he'd counted the cost to Severus' life worth the slim future chance to save the wizarding world. In his defense, he'd told Severus the cost he'd pay - hated, scorned, a pariah to any who would have called him friend and the endless possibility of discovery and death. Severus had agreed to everything, all for the tattered and unrequited love of Lily Potter.

"Severus and Lily had been close in school, their interests overlapping in many areas. Ultimately though, I think Severus' very intensity began to frighten her. For all that Severus loved her, which I believe she well knew, I don't think she ever really understood him or loved him back as deeply. When Tom killed the Potters, Severus blamed himself."

"And you conveniently used his guilt to your own ends."

"Our mutual ends, Arrosa," he said firmly. "Severus was just as determined to stop Tom as I was, although I admit much of that had to do with avenging Lily."

"And for almost a decade and half, everything went along according to your plan until Hermione Granger mucked it up."

"The girl's a menace."

Arrosa chuckled but Albus kept going. "At every turn, she has disrupted my plans. Even when she helps, she shifts the balance in completely unpredictable ways. The house-elves, Arrosa! How in Merlin's name do you become an honorary house-elf?" Sitting back against the couch, Albus laced his fingers together and studied the gnarled knuckles. "Do you know the worse part?" He didn't wait for her to answer. "I recognized her influence early. I . . . took steps – what I thought at the time where the right steps – to sever the growing connection between Severus and Miss Granger."

"How did that work for you?"

Albus grimaced. "I believe I caused, or at least accelerated, the very thing I was trying to prevent. And now . . . ." The words, _And now Severus doesn't just have a chance of dying. He is going to die_, were locked in his throat. The words wanted to come out. The guilt of them weighted heavy on his heart, but he didn't voice them. Miranda had been adamant about Severus' reaction to the news. No one else was to know. In this small thing, Albus would follow Severus' wishes.

"But isn't it also the very thing that Potter needs to defeat Voldemort? The boy needs all the advantages he can get. Sounds to me like Severus and the girl are going to give him that."

Albus glanced away from Arrosa's all too perceptive gaze. "The use of the linking spell gives us the best hope that we have had in a long time."

Silence fell between them for a long moment. "You aren't sure Potter can defeat him." Her gaze sharpened. "Does he even _have_ a plan to defeat him? Or, better yet, do you have a plan?"

The silence lengthened again. "Albus?"

Reaching up, he rubbed at his eyes. "There is no plan."

Beside him, Arrosa sucked in a breath. "What do you mean there is no plan?"

"The prophecy is clear. They must face each other, and one must die for the other to live. I've done what I can to arm Harry, but I cannot plan for this."

"Arm him how, Albus?"

He finally looked up and met her eyes again. "With love, of course. All my research these past years says that his mother's protection, her love, will continue to protect him against the Killing Curse. My hope is that everyone's love for Harry, and his for his friends, will be strong enough to overcome Tom."

Her voice rose in disbelief. "That's it? That's what you have?"

"I've prepared him the best way I can, Arrosa," he snapped back. "We don't exactly have a spell that can kill with love. And I CAN guarantee you that if Harry can't maintain his compassion and empathy and _love_ then Tom will kill him."

"So, what? The boy is supposed to go and give the Volemort a hug and then drive a dagger in his back while Voldemort hits him with Avada Kedavra? That's insane, Albus."

"It is all we have."

* * *

Harry sat sideways on his broom as it hovered a few feet above the dried and winter killed weeds in the small garden behind Grimmauld Place. Every so often, he'd kick his feet and make the stems swish back and forth. Ron hung in an almost identical pose a foot or so away, although he'd given up tormenting the grass. Ginny was sprawled across a stone bench, idly flipping through the latest edition of _Witch Weekly_. All of them were restless and tired of being cooped up the house. It had been deemed too dangerous for any of them to go outside the protections of the Fidelius Charm. Harry understood the restrictions, but he chafed at the inactivity and feeling of confinement. Not even the knowledge that Christmas was approaching did anything to dispel the mood. There had been too many deaths and heartbreak to even make an attempt at holiday cheer.

Harry kicked at the weeds again. "I talked to Snape. Last night."

Ron sat up so straight, he almost fell off his broom. "Bloody hell, Harry! I thought you were dealing with that. What did Snape do?"

"He told me to mind my own business," he said with a frown.

Ron groaned. "You didn't say anything to Hermione, did you? Please tell me you didn't?"

Harry kicked again, this time sending his broom a little higher. "I'm not stupid. She would've hexed me."

Ron's eyes went wide. "And Snape wouldn't? Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

"What are you two going on about?" Ginny finally asked, breaking into the conversation.

"Hermione fancies Snape," Harry answered while making a face.

Ron groaned. "She's going to kill me."

Ginny grinned up at her brother. "If you two would pay more attention, it's not like it's a big secret. Everyone's whispering about it. Professor McGonagall gets positively twitchy about it."

Harry made another face. "How can you two be okay with this? It's Hermione . . . and Snape."

Ginny's expression closed off as she shrugged. "Mum's dead, Harry. So many other people are dead, or missing. Hermione, if she likes Snape, well, bully for her. And if he likes her, that's all the better." She picked up the _Witch Weekly_ she'd been flipping through and waved it up in the air at Harry. "At least what they have is real. Not like this trash. Do you know what they're are

twittering on about?" Her voice turned hard. "Some Christmas ball the Ministry is giving where they will be honoring Voldemort." She sneered. "Of course, they don't know it's him. No, they'll just be wining and dining the very monster that's setting them all up for their destruction while we sit here cooped up in this house."

Ron's broom hit the frozen ground with a thump. "What did you just say, Gin?"

"That I'm tired of being cooped up in here. I'm tired of this."

Ron snatched the magazine from her hand as Harry floated down to join them. "This is it."

"This is what? And give my magazine back."

"This is our endgame." He passed the magazine over to Harry. "Look at the guest list, Harry. Who do you see?"

Harry began to read with Ginny peering over his shoulder. "The Malfoys. The LeStranges. The Crabbes." His finger continued to move down the list, pausing at known associates of Voldemort until he came to Devrom Dollort. "Voldemort." Harry swallowed hard. "That's it, then. Christmas Eve."

* * *

"Do you think it peculiar?"

Miranda Vector gave a noncommittal hum as she continued to stare at the chalk covered blackboard in front of her. Hermione, quite used to the single-minded focus of her Arthimancy professor, took no offense at the seeming inattention of the other woman. Working on her seventh-year project at Grimmauld Place wasn't all that different from working on the project at Hogwarts. She was just grateful that Professor Vector had agreed to continue mentoring her. While it didn't seem to bother the boys at all, it still rankled Hermione that her education had been cut short prematurely. Plus, it gave her a convenient distraction from Severus and her work on the Dark Mark. Sometimes, she just needed to focus on something else.

"Professor?" Hermione tried again.

This time Vector gave her a glance over her shoulder. Hermione indicated the matrix in front of her. "Don't you think it's peculiar, how the lines seem to move?"

* * *

Author's Note 3:

As most of you know (because I like to chat in these notes), I put a lot of stuff in this story that isn't necessarily needed - gratuitous house elf scene (yes, Rink will be back next chapter), random pokes at JKR for things I thought were silly, and other bits of flotsam and jetsam as the mood strikes me. One of the things that annoyed me about the books was how after seven years of hate, mistrust and dislike, Harry suddenly does a complete turnaround when he finds out Snape loved his mother. Big Woo. He's known from year one that Snape was working for the Order, but never believed a word of it, and now toss in "he loved your mother" and suddenly he's the bravest man Harry ever knew, working tirelessly behind the scenes with never any credit, as if he didn't know that already. Never mind that Harry hated his guts the entire time he knew him. So yeah, I inflicted my version of the Big Woo scene on all you innocent readers only in my version Harry could care less that Snape loved his mother. He still doesn't like the man. *_hangs head in shame_* I'm sorry.


	46. Ch 44: Endgame

Special thanks to my beta melusin. She did a quick beta for me even when she didn't have her computer with her and was on borrowed internet access. Mostly because I told her that if I didn't put out a new chapter soon that I was afraid that you guys would come after me with pointy sticks and torches. :-) She gave it a quick look-see and fixed a few problems and once she gets home will give me the grammar/punctuation fixes. So you have been warned - there are going to be more mistakes for this chapter.

There has been even more awesome artwork added the Pet Project fan art page. Please go check out the wonderful artists and leave them lots of feedback. They deserve it. HERE: petprojectcaeria . deviantart (just remove the extra spaces)

* * *

**Chapter 44: Endgame***

Severus came awake slowly, cocooned in warmth and feelings of safety and contentment. _The sheets_. Even knowing that it was a magically induced peace did not lessen the impact upon his senses or emotions. It was a peace he knew to savor. From his own research and everything he'd read, the sheets slowly lost their magic over time as the baby they were made for grew older, until one day they were simply regular sheets. He idly wondered as he stretched, enjoying the feel of his muscles knotting and relaxing against the slide of smooth cloth, if his being an adult would make a difference in how the magic acted.

Relishing the feelings of contentment, he planned out his day. He had to speak to Dumbledore and Vector about the spell. He needed to speak with Hermione, although he wasn't exactly sure what he was going to tell her. He needed to plan out his estate, such as it was. Simply telling Rink to give everything to Hermione wasn't going to be enough, he'd decided. There were provisions that needed to be made. He needed to do a lot of things, but he was comfortable and from the weak light coming through the curtains it was still early. Curling onto his side, he blinked sleepily and took pleasure in what he knew would be an all too fleeting feeling of ease. For one of the few times in his life, he decided that he deserved a lie-in and closed his eyes.

* * *

Harry swept his eyes around the table. All those who were currently living at Grimmauld Place were present except for Snape. No one had seen the man all day. Harry had noticed Hermione sending anxious glances toward the stairs in between working on some kind of paper that involved multiple colours of ink. Her attachment to Snape still made his stomach twist in distaste but he'd finally broken down at her obvious worry and told her that he'd seen Snape early in the morning and that the git was probably just sleeping off his late night. Hermione had looked less than confident but had gone back to her furious markings between bites of her lunch.

Catching Ron's eye, Harry was encouraged as his best mate gave him a grin. He was suddenly overcome with the knowledge of just how good a friend Ron Weasley was, and the knowledge that he was about to send everyone he cared about into what could very well be their deaths terrified him. Beside him, Ginny squeezed his hand, pulling his attention back to the table. He flashed her a grateful smile and stood up. Squaring his shoulders, he was conscious of how young and unprepared he really felt. "I need to call an Order meeting."

All eyes were immediately on him and he fought the urge to fidget.

Dumbledore spared him a genial look over a forkful of baked beans. "Is that necessary, Harry? Perhaps I can help you?"

Harry shook his head. "No, sir." Twisting to the side, he took the _Witch Weekly_ magazine that Ginny was holding out to him. Flipping to the article, he tossed it onto the table. "That's an article about an upcoming Christmas Eve ball that the Ministry is throwing." Harry's voice went flat with a barely contained anger. "The Ministry is hosting the ball to honour Devrom Dollart and his team in the Ministry for everything that they've done to safeguard the Wizarding world in these trying times."

Dumbledore reached for the magazine and pulled it closer to him. Patting at his pockets, he found his spectacles and glanced over the article in question.

Harry gave him a minute before he continued. "Notice the guest list. And that's probably not even everyone. But what's there reads like a who's who list of almost every prominent pureblood Wizarding family. But even more than that, everyone that we _know_ is a Death Eater is on that list. I'm guessing that everyone that we don't know is a Death Eater will also be in attendance." Harry's voice took on a hard mocking edge. "It's Voldemort's big day."

As the others crowded around the Headmaster to see the magazine, Harry caught Hermione's eye. "Do you think you and Snape can be ready?"

"I-" She stopped and flipped through several of the equation-covered pages in front of her.

"Hermione?" he asked again when she seemed to get lost in one page of her multi-coloured equations.

When she looked up, she was wearing a stricken expression that Harry didn't understand, but Hermione finally gave him a jerky nod of her head.

"We don't have the people," Moody said, one eye on Harry and the other fixed on the magazine. "Too many unknowns. If the Order were at full strength, maybe." He shook his head. "Now, we don't even have enough people to cover known or suspected Death Eaters, much less the bastard's supporters who will be in the crowd. We'll have a fight on our hands for sure."

Harry drummed his fingers against the table. "It's my best chance." He shot a quick glance at Ginny beside him. "It's _our_ best chance. How many people can the Order bring?" he asked, fixing his gaze on Dumbledore. "Not just the core Order people, but everyone who has pledged their assistance when you call?"

Dumbledore carded his fingers through his beard for several long moments. "We've lost a lot of good people. Others are going to be too afraid to come."

"How many?" Harry asked again.

"Maybe forty. Fifty, if we are lucky. However, not all of them are fighters. Many won't be equipped to handle a pitched battle."

Harry shook his head. "Call them. Can we get an Order meeting for tomorrow?"

"Too soon," Moody growled. "They'll need time to make excuses for disappearing, especially if they think they are being watched. They feel exposed, they won't come at all."

"What about the house-elves?" George asked.

"Only if we know an address or the house-elf has been there before, or they've met the person," Hermione said from the end of the table.

Dumbledore nodded. "That would take care of most of them. I would still suggest waiting until the day after tomorrow."

"Still doesn't address the fact that we don't have enough people to cover a party this size. Not to mention, the problems with the Anti-Apparation Wards the Ministry will have set up."

"We've got people," Ron said, swinging everyone's attention to him. "We can bring another thirty people. Ones who are both prepared, and more importantly, ready to fight."

"Who?" Moody growled in disbelief.

"The DA," Ron said, and then clarified when several people at the table looked confused. "Dumbledore's Army. It's the Defence against the Dark Arts club that Harry started."

"There are still the Wards."

Fred coughed, pulling everyone's attention to him and George. "When we were on the run, we had a few ideas."

"And not much bloody else to do," George added.

"Right. We might have an idea or two for the Wards."

Harry gave the twins a grateful look before pointing at the magazine. "Look at the list. Several of those families are prominent enough that they had to be invited regardless of their leanings. Neville and his grandmother, for instance. Neville was part of the DA. Others as well. That gives us inside people, if need be."

"Harry, we can't involve students in this." McGonagall's face was pinched and disapproving.

Harry snorted in disbelief. "I'm involved. I've been involved since I was eleven." He swept out an arm and indicated Ron, Ginny, Fred and George and Hermione. "They're involved. Voldemort killed Molly and still has Mr Weasley. Everyone in the DA knows what they are fighting for and why."

"Unfortunately, Harry," Dumbledore began, his voice conciliatory, "we won't be able to contact the members of your group. Not without arousing suspicions we can ill afford to raise."

"That won't be a problem." Hermione's voice was both apologetic and smug, as if she was embarrassed to contradict Dumbledore but pleased she had the answer. She held up a galleon, twisting it in the light so that it glinted between her fingers. "Everyone in the DA Club got a Protean charmed galleon before we left Hogwarts. I can get a message out. They'll come."

McGonagall was standing now, tension radiating from her. "I don't like it. It's too dangerous."

Dumbledore was looking grave. "Unfortunately, Minerva, I believe young Harry is correct. We don't have the luxury of waiting and this party would provide us with an opportunity we've not had to date – all of Tom's major and minor supporters gathered together in one place." The Headmaster gave Harry a nod. "Very well. Gather your fellow students. I will gather the Order. The day after tomorrow."

"Are we to meet here?" Ron asked.

"It is the best location, as Hogwarts is currently closed to us. We will stagger the timing of the arrivals and bring them inside in small groups." Dumbledore sent Harry a warm smile. "Well done, Harry. Between this and the Linking Spell, we have an unparalleled chance to end this."

Harry felt himself flush at the praise from the man he idolized. He'd always wanted Dumbledore to be proud of him and he'd been looking for a way to right the disappointment he'd caused his mentor when he'd strayed into the Dark Arts. "Sir, I'd also like to speak with you some more about my other lessons."

"Of course, Harry." Dumbledore held out a hand to Harry, gesturing towards the hallway. "Perhaps we could continue our talk now?"

Harry flashed him a grateful smile. "Great." Turning towards his friends, he added, "Ron, Gin?"

Ron waved him off. "Go on Harry. We'll work with Hermione about the messages that have to be sent to the DA."

Standing, Harry grabbed the magazine from the table. "Whenever you're ready, sir."

* * *

Silas Mariner was earnestly shaking Harry's hand while several of the other DA students stood around. "So glad you called. It's such an honour. I've been holding onto my Galleon since Hogwarts closed."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione came to Harry's rescue. "Gin, could you take this batch into the house?"

Ginny flashed a conspiratorial grin. "Sure thing. Mariner, Luna, Neville, come on. We need to get you off the street." She held out a piece of paper. "Here, read this and we'll go."

There were various "oohs" and "aahs" from the small group as Grimmauld Place appeared from beneath the Fidelius Charm.

"Is that all of them, then?" Ron asked.

Hermione consulted her list. "There are a couple more Order supporters that should be arriving soon and one last lot of DA people."

Beside her Harry frowned. "You sure? I thought Neville's group was the last one on the list."

Hermione shot Ron a look when the crack of an apparition sounded before she could answer. Standing before them was Agnes Worth and her two Slytherin DA compatriots, Vivian Pueche, a sharp-faced and grey-eyed Slytherin that rarely spoke but seemed to miss very little that went on around her, and Constantine Tartaros, a big, beefy young man that always reminded Hermione of Goyle. His size and slow-witted appearance, they'd all discovered during DA class sessions, hid a strong fighter and a quick mind. Along with the three Slytherins was a young man who appeared to be in his early twenties. He looked enough like Agnes, who was currently bent over his arm retching, that Hermione figured him for a brother.

"Damn it, Hermione!" Harry shouted.

"Don't blame Hermione, Harry," Ron said, quickly before Harry could get himself worked up. "I agreed with her about this. We need them. We need everybody and you know it."

Taking the initiative, Hermione approached the slightly nervous looking group. Well, nervous looking except for Agnes, she just looked a little green to Hermione. She gave the group what she hoped looked to be a welcoming smile. "Pueche, Tartaros. Agnes, take a couple of deep breaths, it'll help." Then she stuck out her hand to the young man. "Hermione Granger."

"Talon Worth." He gave a slight shake to Agnes, who was leaning up against his arm. "This one's brother."

"Don't shake," Agnes moaned. Straightening slightly, but still leaning into her brother, she added, "Before Potter gets all twisted up, Talon was Hufflepuff and I told him what's going on. He wants to help."

"But-"

At Harry's confused expression, Hermione explained. "It seems that Worths don't breed true for their House affiliation like a lot of pureblood families seem to. They're rather notorious for it."

Harry's lips pressed together as he gave the small group a stiff nod of his head. A second later he had a firm grip on her upper arm. "Hermione, can I talk to you a moment?" Feeling as if she was being led to detention, Hermione let Harry steer her a few feet away from the small group. "Are you insane?" he hissed, making an effort to keep his voice low.

"We need all the help we can get."

"But they're-"

"Don't say it," she interrupted as she shook off his hand. "I don't care what House they were assigned to and neither should you. We need allies. Pueche had better accuracy than most of us and Tartaros was a seventh year. He's powerful and can apparate."

"Parvati had better accuracy," he said sullenly.

Hermione threw up her hands with a growl. "Harry Potter-"

Harry rolled his eyes at her. "Fine. I'm just-" He let out a sigh that she took to be surrender. "How do we know . . . how do _you_ know they can be trusted?"

She softened her own voice. "I don't. Just as you don't know that the Ravenclaws or the Hufflepuffs can be trusted. Oh, Harry, don't you see, we don't even know that our own House can be trusted. But it has to start somewhere. This is a fight for all of the Wizarding World, Harry, not just for the Gryffindor corner of it."

"And if they betray us to Voldemort? What then?"

She smiled, though it felt more like a grimace. "Then we all go down fighting. And Colin will be very disappointed because he's got a serious crush on Agnes."

Her answer surprised a short bark of laughter from Harry that cleared the remaining tension between them. "Colin likes Agnes?"

"Not the important part, Harry."

He gave her a crooked smile in return. "It's better than thinking about the other part." He glanced over to where Ron was huddled with Agnes and the other. "Okay, Hermione. I'll trust them – and you. I just hope you're right."

Hermione gave Harry a quick, one-armed hug. "It has to start somewhere." Swinging her arms and putting on a bright and hopefully confident air, she headed back to the others. "Okay, then. Let me take you in and introduce you."

As Talon gestured her ahead, Hermione rummaged around in her pocket before pulling out one of the slips of paper they'd prepared. "Read this," she said, handing the slip over. When the house materialized, Hermione led them inside. She was braced for a fight from the Order as she led the small group of Slytherins in. Harry had at least been working with these students in the DA. To the rest of the Order, they would be a complete surprise.

"Holy Shite!"

"Language, Mr Tartaros."

Hermione spun around at Severus' voice. He was standing in a small shadowed alcove just past the front door. She'd passed by him without seeing him, but Tartaros had spotted him. The Slytherins were staring at their Head of House with something that was akin to awe. Agnes, Hermione noted, was grinning like she'd just earned an Exceeded Expectations in Potions.

Tartaros flushed, the tips of his ears turning bright red in embarrassment. "Sorry, sir. I just . . . I mean, you're . . . right. Sorry, sir."

Severus gave the small group a look that made Hermione want to laugh. _So much for the famed Slytherin unflappability._

Severus' eyes flicked to her and back to the three Slytherins. "Miss Worth, Miss Pueche, Mr Tartaros, you do great credit to your House and the Wizarding World today." Severus' gaze traveled over Agnes' brother and Hermione suppressed a smile as the young man automatically straightened under his regard. "You also, Mr Worth. Hufflepuff is not often given the credit it is due."

Talon seemed to grow two inches on the spot, but managed a very mature, "Thank you, sir."

Hermione stepped forward. "Professor Snape, perhaps you'd like to take your students, and Mr Worth, of course, into the meeting?"

His eyes swept over them again, assessing and calculating. "Yes, that might be advisable. Follow me."

Leaving them to Severus, and inwardly relieved that he would be the one facing the Order when the Slytherins showed up, Hermione turned and headed back out into the cold December air, skipping lightly down the front steps. The rest of the Order might howl in outrage, but Hermione knew that having the Slytherins there would go a long way towards making the Wizarding World better in the long run. Harry still looked concerned but he wasn't avoiding her. "I hope you know what you're doing Hermione."

"It was right, Harry."

"It's done now, anyway," Ron said. "Anybody else on the list?"

"Just the-"

A crack of Apparition sounded. "—me down. How dare you kidnap me! This is an outrage."

"—twins with Percy," Hermione finished during a pause in Percy's yelling.

"You two are wanted by the Aurors for questioning. As soon as I get free, I'm reporting you immediately to the Ministry."

Hermione pulled her wand. "Somnambul." Percy, wrapped up in what looked like a double spell casting of _Incarcerous_ slumped in the hold Fred and George had on him. "Could you not have put a silencing spell on him?" she snapped in exasperation.

"Spoilsport," Fred said, sticking out his tongue at her.

"Besides," George added, "it's way more fun listening to his threats."

As they all headed back inside, dragging Percy behind them, Hermione could already hear the sound of voices from the front parlor. The rise and fall sounded like a hive of angry bees as the voices overlapped on top of each other. Giving the three of them jaunty waves, Fred and George carried the unconscious Percy into the meeting. As soon as they crossed the threshold, the voices within ceased for a moment. Then a woman's voice rang out sharply, "Oh for heaven's sake, what have you two done?" Any return comment by the twins was drowned out as the buzz of voices rose again.

Glancing over at Harry, Hermione noted his tight expression and clenched fists. Reaching out she brushed her fingers against his. "You okay?"

Harry let out a gusty breath. "No, don't think I am."

On his other side, Ron let out a sharp laugh. "No worries, mate. Hermione and I are here with you." He jerked a thumb in the direction of the parlor. "No matter what this lot decides, or doesn't decide, we're with you. Remember that. It's a good plan we've got laid out. With Hermione and Snape's help with the Death Eaters, we've got an edge that we didn't have before. It'll work."

A sharp stab of worry went through Hermione as Ron mentioned her and Snape but she put it aside for now, focusing on her two friends.

Harry shook his head. "I still have no idea how I'm suppose to fight Voldemort. What good does to it do to confront him if all it does is get everyone killed? I'm sending them to their deaths."

"No, Harry, you are leading them to their one chance at victory," Dumbledore said from behind them.

Hermione spun, as did Harry and Ron. Dumbledore was standing there in the entryway, looking resplendent in full Wizarding robes, rather than the more casual everyday robes she was used to seeing him in. Once again she was reminded of just how subtle and Slytherin-esque the Headmaster could be when he chose.

"Some of them could die because of me."

Dumbledore's expression was grave. "Yes, some of them could die, but not because of you, Harry. Everyone in this house has made the choice to stand up to Tom."

"Because you asked them to."

Dumbledore shook his head. "I've brought them here to this point and to this moment. But all of us, myself included, will follow you the rest of the way." Dumbledore laid a hand on Harry's shoulder. "You've made me very proud today, Harry." He glanced towards the doorway leading to the parlour. "And if nothing else, this promises to be a most entertaining meeting," he added with a mischievous wink that reminded Hermione of the Weasley twins before he smoothed down his robes and headed into the Order meeting. As he entered the room, the angry drone of bees fell silent.

Harry gazed blankly after the Headmaster, his expression clouded and dark.

Reaching out, Hermione laid a hand on Harry's arm. "Harry?"

Harry blinked, his eyes coming back into focus. "Come on then," he said, heading towards the parlour.

* * *

Severus leaned back against the fire mantelpiece, studying the room and its assembled members. There was a definite pattern to the group – Order members sat on one side while Albus' auxiliary members sat stiffly on the other. The students invited by Potter clumped together in one corner next to a window seat. Those who couldn't fit in the window were sitting on the floor and the edges of nearby tables and chairs. He found it interesting that even his Slytherins were welcomed into the knot of students as one of their group. Even more interesting, and inwardly entertaining, was the shocked reactions of many of the students at finding him at the meeting. It gave Severus a perverse bit of pleasure to confound their notions of him.

The meeting had gone much the way he'd thought it would. The first hour had been filled with yelling from all parties, followed by short periods of oppressive silence, only to be followed once again by yelling. Everyone was eyeing each other suspiciously and he'd noted more than one witch or wizard had their hands wrapped nervously around their wands. It was not an auspicious start to the meeting.

The room had once again degenerated into loud chaos as the hundred or so people in the magically expanded room tried to talk over, around and through each other, at least until Dumbledore made his grand entrance and silence reigned once more. This time the silence held.

Severus let out a soft huff of breath – the old man had the audacity to call him theatrical. Severus had no doubt that Dumbledore's appearance – from his carefully groomed beard to the tips of his chartreuse and silver embroidered pointed-toe shoes – had been carefully calculated. The total effect was the image of a powerful, commanding wizard, rich in age and power. The fact their powerful, commanding wizard was also a dotty eccentric that had been manipulating them all like a master puppeteer for years never entered their tiny complacent minds.

Albus gave one of his usual sprit-buoying speeches which Severus tuned out. He'd heard it, or enough variations of it over the years, that given the right incentive, he could probably give the speech himself, right down to the annoying twinkle and genial smiles.

He and Albus had gone over the plan earlier as the others were gathering. Albus would speak and then they would let Potter do the rest of the explaining. They had debated on having Vector show the assembled members the matrix, but had ultimately decided against it. That branch of Arithmancy was so esoteric that most of the Wizarding population wouldn't be able to follow it. The last thing they needed now was confusion in the ranks. But letting Potter speak, that Albus had been most adamant about. Severus had his doubts, but wisely kept them to himself.

Now he kept one ear on Potter as the boy explained the plan to the others. Severus was more interested in watching the reactions of the gathered witches and wizards; watching for signs of betrayal or weakness. The signs were subtle, but he found reading regular witches and wizards easier than reading his fellow Death Eaters. The intelligence he gathered from his observations would be used to lay out their strategy – who would directly engage with the Dark Lord's followers in the crowd versus the more passive, and less dangerous role, of securing the fallen Death Eaters. They had surprise and opportunity on their side in this, but so much could still go wrong.

His gaze rested on Hermione. She was watching Potter, her posture open and earnest, but he'd noticed the looks she'd been sending in his direction. Something was on her mind and worrying her. He forced his gaze away and back to the room as one of the Order supporters stood up, drawing the attention of the room.

"The _Prophet_ says that there's a prophecy."

The questioner was someone Severus didn't personally know, one of the supporters that had pledged their support to Dumbledore. The man, Wills, Severus suddenly remembered his name from the introductions, Herbert Wills. He was a mid-level member of one of the smaller potion brewing houses.

The question was not belligerent, but there was a hard edge to it that made Severus straighten his stance slightly, the better to move if it came to drawn wands. They had hoped to avoid this line of questioning. He saw Albus shift and then everyone's eyes were on Potter as the boy stepped forward.

"There is."

"You plan on sharing it?"

"Now, Herbert," Dumbledore began, "I don't think this is the time or the place. Knowing the prophecy won't do any of us any good. Thinking you know the future only biases your reactions to the situation."

Wills' jaw stuck forward, giving the man a striking resemblance to a bulldog. Ignoring Albus, he addressed Potter. "You know this prophecy?"

"Yes."

"You believe it?"

Potter's gaze swept the room before coming back to Wills. "I do."

"Harry-" Dumbledore began, but Potter continued as if he hadn't heard.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches . . . born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies . . . and the Dark Lord will mark him as equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not . . . and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives . . . the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies."

Severus felt a chill crawl down his spine as Potter spoke the words. A quick glance around the room said he wasn't the only one affected as the room fell silent as those gathered absorbed the meaning.

Wills tapped his own forehead. "Your scar, that's the marking you as an equal bit?"

"Yes."

"And what about this power? How do you plan on killing him?"

"Herbert-"

Albus tried to interrupt the conversation again and Severus wanted to laugh. For quite possibly the first time in a very long while, no one was paying the great Albus Dumbledore the slightest bit of attention.

"No. I've a right to be knowing how this is going to work. This plan is all well and good. I'm glad we have a plan and an advantage, small as it is. But I want to know how you plan on facing You-Know-Who before I trust my life and my family's lives to this. I want to know that when it comes down to the duel between Potter and _Him_, that Potter over there is going to throw the first Avada."

Potter's face had gone white, but his hands were clenched into determined fists. "I'm not going to 'throw the first Avada.'" Potter threw up a hand when it looked like Wills was about to say something else. "The prophecy says 'power the Dark Lord knows not'." Potter turned his head to send a look at Weasley before continuing. "As someone pointed out, Voldemort knows all about Dark Magic."

Severus hissed in annoyance as Potter said _His_ name. Thankfully, he just did it once.

"This isn't a fight of hate against hate. I survived as a baby because I was wrapped up in my mother's love for me. That's what defeated him."

Wills looked less than impressed. "And she died for it. Are you willing to lay down your life for us?"

Potter's expression took on the stubborn look that Severus was so very familiar with. He looked around the room, his gaze stopping and lingering on his friends. "If that's what it takes. Yes."

* * *

Severus stepped into his room and bolted the door behind him. As a secondary precaution, he set an archaic locking spell on the door, one he doubted that few had ever heard of, much less knew the counterspell for. For once his head wasn't pounding, an unlooked for miracle, but he was tired. The meeting had dragged on for hours, circling around and around until it had become a farce. Dumbledore had finally put a halt to it all. Each participant had been wand-sworn to their secret before being sent on their way. Well, each participant except for Percy Weasley. He was still under a sleep spell somewhere in the house.

He rather wished he could sleep himself. Unfortunately, that was not in his immediate future. Leaning back against the door, he took a few deep breaths to steady himself and closed his eyes. With exceedingly careful intent he built his Occlumency imagery. He gathered up up all traces of anything that could give him away to the Dark Lord. Thoughts and emotions, conversations, and interactions concerning Flitwick, Vector, the Matrix and most importantly Hermione, were each painstakingly gathered up and sunk beneath the cold water of his imagined lake. When nothing remained but carefully selected and edited memories and emotions, he opened his eyes.

With both his nerves and shields set, he pushed up his shirt sleeve and pulled his wand. Touching the tip to the Mark's surface, he sent a pulse of magic outward. Then he waited.

Waiting was easy and timeless. Bodiless he floated deep within the chill waters of the pond. When the Dark Lord summoned him, he was prepared.

Sweeping up his heavier outer robes, he dressed and unlocked the door. He made no extra effort to be quiet as he headed down the stairs, but Albus met him at the door. "Be careful, Severus."

"Of course, Albus." He turned to leave and then stopped, one hand upon the door.

"Severus?"

Severus hesitated for a moment, then spoke. "If . . . if Miss Granger inquires, tell her I will return."

Albus was quiet a long time. "Severus-"

Severus turned his head just enough to meet Albus' gaze. The old man sighed. "I will tell her."

Severus nodded. "Thank you."

Stepping out of the house, no sign of any inner turmoil or concern marred his expression. Once beyond the Fidelius, he followed the tug of the Dark Mark. Severus apparated blindly, but wasn't surprised to find himself in the overdone study where the Dark Lord had systematically tortured him during the summer. It was also no surprise that the Dark Lord was not alone. Thorfinn Rowle was also in the room, sitting back in one of the leather chairs as if the office was his own domain. Severus chose to ignore Rowle, his concentration on the Dark Lord. Or maybe, Devrom Dollort. Or Tom Riddle. Or Lord Voldemort. The man changed his name as often as Nagini changed her skin. Severus dropped his eyes, as he dropped to his knees. _Foolish, dangerous thoughts_, a part of him hissed from beneath the ice. _Deadly thoughts, that will get you killed. Focus!_

"It is not often that you contact me, Severus."

Rising from his kneeling position, Severus pulled himself to his full height. "My news was such that I thought it best to come straight away, my Lord."

"_You_ thought it best?" The voice was Rowle, slick and heavy with an oily contempt.

Severus continued to ignore the other man. Rowle might currently be holding a place at the Dark Lord's side, but that position was a precarious one. "Dumbledore and Potter have come to a decision. They hope to use the distraction of the Ministry's Christmas Ball to launch their attack against you. They believe that your forces will be scattered and that you will not dare launch a full counterattack in the presence of both Ministry and regular Wizarding citizens."

"My Lord, this is a blatant trap," Rowle said, rising from his chair. "Snape is a spy for Dumbledore."

The creature that had once been Tom Riddle laughed. "Of course, he is Thorfinn. Severus is the very best kind of spy – the kind that tells the truth. Isn't that so, Severus? For Severus walks a dangerous and delicate path between telling me the truth and telling Albus Dumbledore the truth."

Severus dropped his head, but still stood straight. This too was part of the delicate path he walked – being humble before his master but not subservient. If he played the balance right, his master was amused at his gall. If he played it wrong . . . Severus had scars to show for those failures. "The truth is not always as black and white as the Order of the Phoenix would like to believe." Severus gave a delicate shrug. "I cannot be held responsible if they _interpret_ the truth to their own perceptions. Those outside of Slytherin rarely understand the many and varied shades of grey in which the world is painted."

Rowle made a noise of disgust. "Pretty words, Snape. Pretty words designed to hide the truth that I see. That you are a traitor to our Lord."

Voldemort raised one manicured hand and Rowle fell into a seething silence. "Tell me your news, Severus."

"Dumbledore does not let me out of his sight willingly. It is true that he knows I have come to you this evening."

Eyes that reflected back red from the fire in the grate glittered in hatred and insanity. "Yet you are here, Severus."

His heart beat increased at the underlying menace in those words.

"I am where my true loyalty lays, Master. I have always served you faithfully. Dumbledore and the Order are in shambles. Few remain loyal to the old fool. There is dissent in the ranks. Dumbledore sees this as the last hope to defeat you and your plans for the Wizarding world."

"You would have us believe this tripe?"

This time Voldemort did more than just raise his hand. A blast of wandless magic hurled Rowle across the room, slamming him into the far wall. "While I value your council, Thorfinn, do not forget who I am. Severus was one of the first to take the Mark of his loyalty. I've given him leave to speak and you will hold your tongue, or I will remove it."

From across the room, Rowle shot a hate filled looked in Severus' direction before bowing his head down low to the carpet on which he sprawled. "Forgive me, Master. I seek only to further your goals and to protect you. But as you say, I'm sure my misgivings are baseless. My brother Severus has served you long and well." The words were conciliatory but the tone promised Severus retribution.

Severus risked a look at Rowle, his lips twisted in a sneer of contempt. It was expected after all and his Master loved to play his subjects against one another. ""Unlike some," he said, " I walk among the enemy daily. I see their arrogance and their fears. In their desperation, they have allowed Potter to call in his schoolmates for help." He dropped his voice. "They think they can beat us with children. Even then, their numbers are nothing to ours. Their strengths are paltry, their weaknesses overwhelming."

"What of the brat?"

"The boy sides with Dumbledore and is afraid of the coming fight. Already the Order questions his ability to carry out the fight against you."

"Show me."

It was all the warning Severus got as Voldemort forced his way into his mind. Severus reflected back his carefully chosen images upon the ice of his pond. Each memory and association seemingly random yet each telling a tiny part of the story he sought so delicately to weave.

A conversation.

An image.

Feelings of betrayal and hate. Of loneliness.

And then at the very end, he showed the Order meeting as Wills questioned Potter: _Potter's face had gone white, but his hands were clenched into determined fists. "I'm not going to 'throw the first Avada.'" Potter threw up a hand when it looked like Wills was about to say something else. "The prophecy says 'power the Dark Lord knows not'." Potter turned his head to send a look at Weasley before continuing. "As someone pointed out, Voldemort knows all about Dark Magic."_

_"This isn't a fight of hate against hate. I survived as a baby because I was wrapped up in my mother's love for me. That's what defeated him."_

_Wills looked less than impressed. "And she died for it. Are you willing to lay down your life for us?"_

_Potter's expression took on the stubborn look that Severus was so very familiar with. He looked around the room, his gaze stopping and lingering on his friends. "If that's what it takes. Yes." _

Voldemort pulled away so abruptly from Severus' mind that the magical backlash staggered him and drove him to one knee. Pain lanced through his head from the sudden withdrawal as the image of Potter saying _'I survived as a baby because I was wrapped up in my mother's love for me' _was burned into his mind. Struggling upward, he found Voldemort across the room, pacing frantically in front of the fireplace.

It hurt to look into the brightness of the fire, but Severus pushed through the pain, as he always had. "My Lord?"

"They are desperate."

"Very desperate," he agreed. "Potter is weak and unfocused. He grasps at straws."

Voldemort stopped pacing and turned to look at Severus fully. "You are sure they will attack at the Ball?'

"They have committed themselves."

"They believe that my chosen - my Death Eaters and followers - will be there?"

"Yes Master."

Then Voldemort began to laugh. "They wish to meet my followers. Then I will gather them. Dumbledore, Potter and all who oppose me will be crushed at once."

"Master!"

Voldemort turned to Rowle. "Yes, Thorfinn it could be a trap." Voldemort cast a look back at Severus. "You wouldn't lead me into a trap, would you, Severus?"

Severus met Voldemort's eyes with a steady gaze. "I would give my life, Master, before leading you into danger."

Within the safety of his mind, deep within the chill waters of his Occlumency imagery, Severus Snape gave a serene smile. As he had said earlier, the truth was painted in shades of grey and according to Vector, he would be very dead indeed.

* * *

Severus staggered from his apparation landing. His head was still pounding and it was affecting his concentration. Voldemort's use of Legilimency had more to do with the hammer's approach rather than the surgical cut of a surgeon. The last image he'd shown Voldemort flickered within his mind like a loop. _'I survived as a baby because I was wrapped up in my mother's love for me.'_ He shook his head, trying to dislodge both the image and the pain. It was a fruitless endeavor. He knew nothing would dull the afterimage or the ache from Voldemort's penetration of his mind except sleep and time. The Dark Lord had kept him late with plans and, if he was truthful, needless posturing. Now dawn was on the horizon and there was still much that had to be done before any plans could be implemented.

Heading towards Grimmauld Place, the light dusting of frost on the ground crunched beneath his boots, disturbing the silence around him. So much to do and still so little time. He wanted nothing more than to go inside Grimmauld Place and forget everything for a while, to wrap himself in Hermione's sheets and sleep.

_'I survived as a baby because I was wrapped up in my mother's love for me.'_

Severus stopped, his heart pounding. Taking a deep breath of the cold night air, he let it out slowly. _'I survived as a baby because I was wrapped up in my mother's love for me.'_

Mother's magic. Old magic. Everything Voldemort stood against and everything that he knew nothing about. _Merciful Merlin_.

Forgetting his headache, Severus quickened his steps, fairly flying into the house and up the stairs to his own room. Severus had been assigned a new personal house-elf from the Hogwarts' elves, an older, staid female name Mot. But contemplating now, he called on an entirely different name.

"Rink!"

For a long moment he wondered if the elf would appear. Hogwarts was closed, Rink was a Hogwarts elf and no longer attached to Severus, and they had not parted company on the best of terms. A moment later, Rink appeared, already halfway bent over in a bow. "How may Rink serve Master of Potions?"

"I am no longer . . . nevermind," Severus said impatiently. "Stand up and quit that ridiculous bowing."

Rink popped upright and stood still, all except the very tips of his ears which were flickering rapidly back and forth. Even knowing he'd called Rink, Severus couldn't help asking," Are you suppose to be here?"

Severus almost laughed as narrow elvish shoulders went down in a gesture of stubborn defiance he'd seen many a Gryffindor perform over the years. "Master of Potions called Rink"

Severus shook his head in bemusement. S.P.E.W. might have died an ignominious death, but he suspected Hermione's legacy with the house-elves would have longer lasting implications than anyone realised. "I did call you. Can you bring me something within Hogwarts?"

Rink contemplated the request, then said, "Rink can."

"Good. There is a book on my nightstand. I need you to retrieve it and bring it to me."

Rink was gone almost instantly, his return a mere moment later. He handed Severus the book with another bow. His hand curled loosely around the book, Severus studied Rink. "You realise that this . . . devotion is completely ridiculous."

One of Rink's ears curled downward as the elf seemed to study Severus in turn. "Rink serves," he said, and popped away.

Severus snorted. _Elves. _Book in one hand, Severus grabbed up the sheet made for him by Hermione and went to find the Headmaster.

* * *

He and Albus found them in the garden. Warming charms kept most of the chill away, but not even magic could keep Winter's bite entirely from the air. Four pairs of eyes stared at him as he invaded their domain. Hermione's gaze was warm and welcoming. Potter's was narrowed in ill-disguised suspicion, while Weasley's was curious and the girl's was surprisingly neutral.

"Headmaster." Potter's lips twisted. "Snape."

He heard Hermione mutter, "Oh, honestly, Harry." He fought the urge to smirk at the boy. It was heartening in a way that the enmity between them continued; comforting like slipping into an old and well-worn pair of slippers. As the thought occurred, he let out a silent _chuff_ of breath in amusement. He really had gone mad. There simply was no other explanation for it. Ignoring the niceties of polite conversation, he went right to the point of the visit.

"The Headmaster and I believe that we have come up with a solution to your problem."

"My problem?"

Severus glanced at Albus, seeing if the old man wanted to explain, but he was smiling at Severus. He fought the urge to roll his eyes. Albus seemed to think that this solution was somehow going to bring him and Potter together.

But, as Albus seemed unwilling to speak, he began. "You cannot defeat the Dark Lord with the Black arts. You also cannot overcome him with sheer strength, as he is stronger both physically and magically than you are. In your previous confrontations with him, you have survived on little more than luck."

Potter was looking between him and Albus. "So, you're just here to gloat about my upcoming defeat?"

"Don't be absurd," he snapped. "Your defeat would mean the utter destruction of everything I have given my life to see completed. I, possibly more than anyone besides yourself, want to make sure you prevail."

"Noble sentiments," Harry scoffed in disbelief. "So why are you here?"

Severus took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He'd known this conversation would not be easy and he was determined to maintain his temper. "I am here to offer you a way to defeat the Dark Lord."

Weasley's gaze sharpened and he climbed to his feet. "A weapon? What kind of weapon and why haven't we heard of this before now? Harry could have used this time to train."

Severus fingered the spine of the book in his hand. It pulsed softly beneath his fingertips. "Lily Evans-" He paused. "Lily Potter . . . saved your life and defeated the Dark Lord once before. You said it in the meeting: you survived as a baby because you were wrapped up in your mother's love. That defeat, however, came at a price." Raising his eyes he caught Potter's gaze and held it. "She gave her life to protect you by invoking very old magic. At this point, we will never know if she did it consciously or unconsciously, but the result was the same. Many scorn this magic today as less powerful, less . . . controllable. If you would use _that which he knows not_ I would look here." Severus took the last few steps forward and held out the book to Potter.

"You're giving me a book?"

Severus fought down the irrational thought that if Hermione had been the "Chosen One" this war would already be over and the Dark Lord would be in the ground. Permanently. "Yes, Mr Potter, a book – a book filled with dangerous and often ignored power. It is a book containing unconditional acceptance, understanding, joy, celebration, and most importantly, love."

"I thought you said it was a weapon?"

"Mr Weasley used the word weapon. You continue to think in terms of fighting . . . of winning and losing."

"The prophecy is pretty explicit. One of us will kill the other."

"Prophecies lie," he hissed. "We interpret them the way we want. Give them weight and meanings that exist nowhere except in our minds. Did you not hear yourself speak the words of the prophecy in the Order meeting? He will have power the Dark Lord knows not."

Potter's lips pulled back from his teeth in a snarl as he finished the phrase: "And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives."

"Dying at your hand, Mr Potter, is not the same thing as dying by your hand." For the first time since walking into the garden, Severus looked over at Hermione, and then looked quickly away at the naked emotions writ across her face. "Read the book, Potter. I'm sure Miss Weasley can help you with the larger words. Miss Granger can help you with everything else you need to know." He didn't wait for a response but spun on his heel and headed back into the house.

"Severus?" Albus called.

But Severus ignored him and continued on his way.

* * *

***Endgame** - In chess and chess-like games, the endgame is the stage of the game when there are few pieces left on the board. The line between middlegame and endgame is often not clear, and may occur gradually or with the quick exchange of a few pairs of pieces. The endgame, however, tends to have different characteristics from the middlegame, and the players have correspondingly different strategic concerns. In particular, pawns become more important; endgames often revolve around attempting to promote a pawn by advancing it to the eighth rank. The king, which has to be protected in the middlegame owing to the threat of checkmate, becomes a strong piece in the endgame. It can be brought to the center of the board and be a useful attacking piece.

**Author's Note 3:** Those of you who read my livejournal got a preview scene that was supposed to be in this chapter. Unfortunately, it got moved to the next chapter due to issues with scene flow. It will be back.

**Author's Note 4:** I'm terrible at character names. When the new Slytherins showed up at Harry's DA class, I didn't name them just for that reason. Now, unfortunately, they must be named. I opened up the naming to readers on my livejournal account. Name winners are: Natasnape with Vivian Pueche and Marlene Pederson with Constantine Tartaros. Thanks guys!


	47. Ch 45: Queen to Queen's Level Three

**Author Note 1:** We are getting to the smut. No, it won't happen in this chapter. I just wanted to warn everyone ahead of time. Yes, I know FFN rules – I'm aiming for smut, not porn. I should be okay with an M rating. Thanks to those of you who expressed concern. I will endeavor not to get the story deleted from FFN. That would be bad – not to mention that everyone would have to go back and leave all their reviews over again. I would insist.

**Author Note 2:** According to the books, Snape is half-blood. This story started before that revelation. For the purposes of this story, he is pureblood. That isn't going to change. Also, I've played a bit with the Severus/Lily backstory because . . . well, I can.

Big thanks to Melusin for her beta skills. I was all over the place this time. She does a wonderful job of corralling my errors.

That's all.

* * *

**Chapter 45: Queen to Queen's Level Three*  
**

Hermione glanced worriedly after Severus as he left. Leaving the way he had wasn't normal, nor was ignoring the Headmaster's call. There had been pain in his eyes when he'd finally looked up at her, and her first instincts were to follow him. Reason, however, overruled impulsive emotion, and she stayed where she was. Chasing him down now in front of the others, when he was agitated, would just cause him to pull further away. She'd give him time to settle himself first. Then she'd go find him.

Something was very wrong; she had a bad feeling about it all, and wasn't sure how to shake it. The equations she was working on were part of it. Severus was part of it. Vector's reaction the other day to her questions about the matrix, although her professor had tried to play if off as nothing, was also part of whatever was going on. It wasn't nothing, whatever it was. Vector wasn't telling her something, and she was determined to figure out what it was – especially if it somehow affected Harry, Severus and the upcoming battle.

"He wants me to take care of a baby? That's his big plan?"

The disbelief in Harry's voice snapped Hermione's attention back to the garden. "Let me see that, Harry."

Harry tossed her the slim book, and she fought the urge to glare at him for being so cavalier with it. As soon as the soft leather touched her hand, she knew what book it was. Flipping it over just confirmed her guess – _Raising a Magical Child_ by Dr. Spook.

"It is a spellbook, Harry," Dumbledore said before Hermione could answer. "Many of the spells in it are ancient, predating even the use of wands by witches and wizards. While most are geared towards the development of young witches and wizards, many others are of more broad usage. But most importantly, the contained spells are the antithesis of Dark magic."

Ginny had got up and approached Hermione. "Mum had this book," she said, tapping the cover. "She told me once that she got it from her mum." Ginny paused and took a deep shuddering breath. "She said that one day she'd pass the book onto me."

"Gin-" Ron's voice was soft.

Ginny gave her brother a sad smile. "I'm okay, Ron. I just miss her. Dad, too. But I can, at least, hope that he's still alive. Pretend a little." She gave herself a little shake and straightened her shoulders.

Seeing Ginny take on a determined air, Hermione thought she looked remarkably like Molly Weasley in that moment. Ginny's next question cemented Hermione's thought that Ginny was stepping up to take the position of the Weasley family matriarch. It was a role that Hermione thought Ginny would fill very well.

"So how is the book supposed to help Harry?"

Dumbledore Transfigured a rock into a comfortable chair before boosting the power of the warming charms around them. Settling himself, he said, "Older magic, typically referred to as 'mother's magic' – although really it's not confined just to witches, or mothers for that matter – is dependent on feelings of love and protection, much as Dark magic is dependent on the more negative emotions. It makes sense, I suppose, as both are ancient forms of magic. Destruction, however, is easy and has grown as Wizarding society has grown. Old spells were adapted to wand use over the years, giving us both Curses and Unforgivables. The intent behind them, though, that has not changed."

Harry reached a hand over to Hermione, and she handed back the book. Flipping through a few of the pages, he scanned down the spells. "These look simple enough."

"They aren't." The words were out of her mouth before she had given them proper thought, and she immediately cursed herself for being an idiot as four sets of eyes swung in her direction. Harry, Ron and Ginny's were curious. The Headmaster's darkly amused expression made her want to throw something at him. She had no doubt that the Headmaster knew exactly why she was familiar with the spells.

Ron cocked his head to one side while he studied her. "Professor Snape did say that you could help with the book. How's that, Hermione?"

She sighed. "I've used one of the spells."

Harry was frowning. "But it's a baby book."

"Before you go getting any ideas, I'm not now nor have I ever been pregnant. So don't even go there. I did do a spell from the book, though. Do you guys remember last year when I drained my magic?" At their nods, she continued, "That was the result of the spell I cast."

She wasn't going to tell them exactly what she'd done, as that was between her and Severus, but she did explain enough. "I created one of the protection charms in the book - a very powerful one that required a lot of trial and error before I got it right. And even then, well, you saw what it did to me afterwards. You have to believe in those spells, just like you have to believe in the Unforgivables. Channeling that kind of emotion isn't easy."

"Nor should it be easy," Dumbledore added with such an air of wise-old-man that Hermione had the urge to throw something at him again. "Unlike the Dark Arts spells, these types of spells typically involve sacrifice, be it time or magical energy, or—"

"My mother, who sacrificed her life."

Hermione noticed Ron stiffen beside Harry, his eyes narrowed in the same look of concentration he sometimes got when deep in the middle of a chess game.

Dumbledore climbed to his feet. "Sacrifice is never easy, but we are not bound to your mother's path. Read the book, Harry. Afterwards, come and find me. We can discuss what you've read." Giving a nod to Hermione and Ron, the Headmaster addressed Ginny. "I believe your brother will wake up soon. It might be wise to make sure that Fred and George are-"

"Leashed?" Ginny said with a bit of a laugh as she jumped up to her feet.

"I was going to say, _contained_, but leashed will work. I spoke with Severus earlier. He will provide you with the necessary information you require."

Ginny flashed a small smile. It wasn't the wide, happy grin of old, but it was a smile, and Hermione was glad to see it. Ginny had been elected to deal with Percy as the least antagonistic of the Weasley clan still present. Hermione didn't doubt that Ginny would bring Percy around to their side, especially with the evidence they would be presenting. She felt somewhat sorry for Percy, though. He was about to have his faith in everything he believed in torn away.

As Ginny followed the Headmaster back to the house, Hermione decided that she'd given Severus enough time and decided that it was time she tracked him down. "Harry, I'm going to head in as well. Let me know if you have any questions about the book."

Hermione had just stepped back onto the crushed stone path when Harry called out, "Hey, Hermione, which spell did you do?"

She paused, and then called back, "I created the Sleeping Sheets."

"Did they work?"

She flashed him a smile. "They did."

* * *

Percy shook his head in confusion. Blinking rapidly against a strong white light that was shining directly into his eyes, he wrinkled his nose in distaste at the strong smell of mildew and onions. Attempting to raise an arm to block the light, he found he couldn't move. The smallest feeling of panic began to set in as he tried to understand what was going on. Squinting his eyes, he tried to peer into the darkness beyond the small circle of light, but could see nothing for the blinding glare.

"Hello?"

"Oh, he's awake?"

Percy struggled against the ropes holding him to a hard wooden chair. "And feisty." Another voice from the dark said.

Percy swung his head, the only part of his body he could move, in the direction of the voices. Trying to see into the gloom, only vague shapes met his gaze as fear bubbled through him. _Had he been captured by Death Eaters?_ "Who's there? What do you want? I work for the Ministry. They won't take kindly to this. Let me go immediately, I say."

"Demanding, isn't he?" the first voice said.

"Very," agreed the second.

Percy swallowed against the lump in his throat as the first voice started to laugh, the sound low and creepy as it echoed off the walls around them.

There was the sound of footsteps descending a set of stairs and then _*smack*. _The sound of a slap reverberated through the room, followed quickly by an aggrieved "Ow."

"Knock it off, you two. I swear, we can't trust you two alone for ten minutes. _Lumos_."

Percy's eyes teared up as the blinding light mellowed to a more normal light, and the rest of the small room lit up as well. He could now see he was in some kind of root cellar as mounds of potatoes and onions were piled up in baskets around him. He struggled to understand how he'd got here and what was going on. The memories of the last few hours hit him – the twins, their fight and being abducted. He had a hazy memory of Hermione Granger and Harry Potter, but wasn't certain if that was a dream or real.

"Ginny?"

His sister was still glaring at his two younger twin siblings, neither one of which looked the least bit contrite.

"Ginny?" he asked again, still thoroughly confused. "What is going on here? Untie me."

His sister gave him a look he couldn't interpret. "Sorry, I can't do that, Percy."

Percy blinked at her, ignoring the snickering twins standing behind her. "Why ever not?"

"Because you're collaborating with the enemy," Fred hissed.

Ginny's hand immediately snapped out, slapping against Fred's stomach with a sharp sound.

"Ooof!" Fred glared at Ginny. "What was that for?"

Ginny turned slightly to glare again at her brothers. "We agreed on how we were going to do this. I was going to do the talking."

Fred leaned slightly toward George. "She looks like mum when she does that."

George nodded his head. "That she does," he agreed fondly, if still a little sadly.

Ginny ignored the two and pulled a three-legged stool to Percy's side. "Here's the deal, Percy. The Ministry has been taken over by Tom Riddle and his Death Eaters."

She said the name with such loathing that even Percy flinched back, but he felt the need to protest. "Ginny, I understand you're upset, but we are the Ministry. I think I would know if You-Know-Who was wandering the halls."

George made a rude noise. "You wouldn't know your arse with both hands, much less a Death Eater."

Ginny raised her hand. "Either you two shut it or you leave."

Both made grumbling noises, but remained silent.

"Listen to me, Percy," Ginny began. "Riddle is Devrom Dollort. Over the last year, he's systemically replaced key people in the Ministry with his Death Eaters. The people that were picked up, like Mum and Dad, they were threats to Riddle."

"The people picked up by the Ministry were identified threats or probable threats to the stability of the Wizarding World. Everything that the Ministry has done was only to ensure the safety of everyone involved. We had sworn statements from loyal and trustworthy Ministry officials that many of the people picked up were Death Eaters or loyal supporters. And I've met Mr Dollort. He's a brilliant man with expansive ideas of how to better the Wizarding World. You've been twisted by association with Potter and Dumbledore. If Mr Dollort was You-Know-Who, he'd be trying to take over the Ministry – running for Minister even. But Mr Dollort has always maintained that he doesn't want the position."

George made another noise, but Ginny didn't stop him this time.

"Not to mention," Percy continued with a glare aimed over Ginny's shoulder, "if the people that the Ministry were holding really were all that innocent, why did the Death Eaters try to break them out of their internment village at Azkaban? The Ministry lost a lot of good Aurors in that fight."

"Internment village?" Fred spat out. "Don't tell me you actually believed that rot in those Ministry pamphlets about special housing while everyone was sorted out?"

"And why shouldn't I believe it? Why would the Ministry lie?"

"And what about Mum and Dad, you prat? Do you really think they were Death Eaters in disguise?"

Percy heaved a sigh and struggled a moment against the ropes still holding him to the chair. He hated the fact that he was arguing with them from this ridiculous position. "No, Mum and Dad weren't Death Eaters, but they certainly hung around with forces that were working to undermine the authority of the Ministry. They were misguided in their allegiance, that's all. They were simply being kept until the Ministry had stabilized the Wizarding World and things could be explained to them. An admirable goal, if you ask me. Not to mention, I was in serious talks with Mr Rowle to secure Mum and Dad's early releases. The Death Eater raid on Azkaban was unfortunate, and certainly put back my negotiations, but you can hardly lay the blame for that on the Ministry or me."

"He's not going to listen," Fred said.

"I still say we just _Imperius_ him and be done with it," George added.

"No." She gave Percy a somewhat sad looking smile, and Percy felt a niggle of nervousness slide down his spine.

"What are you going to do?"

She ignored his question as she pulled a small vial of what looked like quicksilver from her robe pocket. At her gesture, Fred pulled a worn and unadorned wooden bowl from one of the shelves.

"What are you doing?"

They continued to ignore him as Ginny poured the silver into the bowl and gave it a gentle swirl. It hit Percy then, what they were doing. "That's a Pensieve. Whose memories are you putting in there?" He pulled against the ropes again, suddenly very afraid of whatever they thought they were going to show him. "Let me go!"

Ginny was carrying the bowl towards his head as he arched back as far as he could to avoid the bowl and its contents.

"These are Professor Snape's memories, Percy. I asked him when he first withdrew them if I could see them first. He wouldn't let me, but he said that you'd need to see them." She took a breath and then added, "He told me to tell you that he was sorry."

Concentrating on Ginny and the Pensieve, Percy missed the twins coming around to the other side of the chair until four hands grabbed his head and pushed his face forward into the swirling, silvery liquid.

* * *

Wandering in behind Ginny and the Headmaster, Hermione began her search for Severus. She supposed she could have just asked one of the house-elves, but that seemed to be cheating somehow. She didn't think he'd left the house so she started at the top and wound her way through the rooms. She eventually found Severus in a section of the basement of Grimmauld Place where the Order had set up a minimalist Potions workshop. She made no effort to be quiet as she came down the wooden stairs, so she knew he'd heard her, although he gave no sign that he was aware of her presence as he methodically chopped something laid out on his board.

That was fine. She was content to wait as waiting for him to come to her seemed to work best for them. Sitting midway down the stairs, she made herself comfortable. She found herself watching him after a few moments. She'd done a lot of watching while at Hogwarts, but it had always been done slyly, lest she be caught. Now, she unabashedly stared, indulging herself with this unlooked for opportunity.

He was dressed casually, or as casually as Severus ever got, she supposed. He was wearing his usual dark trousers, but his coat and outer robe had been removed. A white shirt, the sleeves neatly rolled up over his forearms, completed his outfit. Both the starkness of the black and white and the simplicity seemed to suit him, she decided, although it was still odd to see him so underdressed. She'd only seen him once before dressed so casually – that long ago night when one of the Gryffindors had got sick. Then, like now, she thought he was too thin, but she was pleased to note that his clothes no longer hung upon his frame, and as he chopped, it was smooth muscle that shifted and moved beneath this shirt, not the lines of sharp shoulder blades. Hermione's fingertips tingled. She wanted to feel those lean muscles move beneath her fingers.

Feeling a blush heat her cheeks, she risked a glance at his face, but he was still ignoring her. She sighed softly. She'd been kissed by three boys in her life. The first had been when she was eight. The second had been her neighbor the first summer back from Hogwarts. The third had been Victor Krum. She'd read enough over the years to know both the clinical biology of the textbooks and the romantic flights of fancy found in her mother's romance novels. Nothing, however, had prepared her for this – this attraction – this wanting. She knew what she wanted, but not how to get there, especially with a man like Severus Snape. She doubted he'd appreciate her throwing herself at him, and the last time she'd followed her more aggressive Gryffindor instincts, he'd all but fled.

She still wasn't even completely sure he felt the same way about her. Maybe if she'd had more experience with men, she'd have a better sense of him, but she had precious little experience to draw on. That pretty much meant that it was best to let this, whatever this was, happen at his pace. Of course, that didn't mean that Hermione couldn't enjoy the view. There was something about watching his hands sort and chop. His fingers, long, sure and dexterous. She knew they were scarred and calloused, but watching him, she couldn't help but imagine those hands on her. A shiver worked its way up her spine. It felt liberating, and yet decidedly wicked, to think of Severus this way when he was so close to her.

"Are you planning on sitting there the rest of the day?"

She ducked her head to hide both her blush and her smile. "I enjoy watching you work. It's . . ." She searched for the right word. "It's enlightening," she finally said. "In the most unexpected ways."

"Hmm."

It was a non-committal noise, but she took it as encouragement that he was ready to talk. "_How to Raise a Magical Child_?"

The steady rhythm of his chopping faltered for a split second before resuming. "He has a power he knows not. The Headmaster and I have long puzzled what that meant. We always knew it tied into the Dark Lord's first defeat by . . . Lily Potter. After I discovered the sheets, I researched their manufacture and history. That was the book you used for guidance, was it not?" For one brief moment, he looked up at her before his eyes were once again focused on his task.

"That was the book. But . . . ." she hesitated.

"But?" he prompted when the silence stretched between them.

"What is Harry supposed to do? The book is filled with spells. Which one is right?"

"I cannot tell you, or Potter, that. Dumbledore has spent the last year teaching Potter about the Dark Lord, about how Tom Riddle became _Him_. It is that knowledge which should help Potter determine what spell would work."

"Can't you help with the selection?"

"I cannot. Even I do not know everything the Headmaster has shared with Potter."

Indignation on his behalf rose swiftly, and her voice came out sharp. "I thought he trusted you?"

The blade paused again in its relentless motion before resuming, at what seemed to Hermione, an even faster pace. "It is not a matter of trust. It is a matter of safety. The Dark Lord is a powerful Legilimens. If he had ever discovered a memory, a thought, anything in my mind that should not have been there . . ." Severus trailed off. "It has always been the best course of action that I know only the least amount of information. For my own sake as much as for the Order's and the Headmaster's plans."

Hermione's fist clenched. She understood the necessity. She even agreed with it, in principle. But it seemed somehow belittling and unfair to the man who lay so much more than anyone else on the line.

"Potter will need to read the book. He will need to decide, and I cannot know what plans you subsequently make. If I am summoned, it is best that I can truthfully tell the Dark Lord that I am untrusted and that the plans for attacking him have not been shared with me."

"It's unfair."

One shoulder rose in a graceful shrug. "It is unavoidable. Plus, I have long suspected that Lily's triumph had much to do with the sheer unexpectedness of her defense as anything else."

He fell silent again. Hermione watched him gather up the chopped ingredients and add them to a small copper kettle. _Healing potion_, she realized. _One of the stronger varieties that required phoenix feathers_. Imminently practical considering the fight that loomed only a few days away.

_Lily Potter. Or Lily Evans. It always seemed to come back to Lily – for Voldemort, for Harry and for Severus._ She'd noticed his hesitation each time he spoke of Lily. Everything he'd done, everything he was now, was a tribute to his love for a woman long gone. The memories seemed to hurt him though, not bring the memories of love and affection that Hermione got when she thought about her own departed and dearly loved grandmother. Then again, every time Lily was mentioned, it was concerning her death. No one ever seemed to speak about her life. "Will you tell me about Lily Evans?" _Lily Evans, not Lily Potter_. It was a deliberate word choice on her part.

His head bowed, and his eyes closed, though he didn't falter in his stirring.

"Severus?" She said it softly, the first time she'd spoken his name since descending the stairs. "Tell me about the girl you loved. Tell me about Lily _Evans_ she said, stressing the last name just slightly.

Eyes still closed, he began to speak. "The Snapes are mostly pureblood. Like the Weasleys, they are a family line that has never garnered much wealth or position within the Wizarding world. Our house, my house now, was located in a dilapidated old mill town. Lily Evans and her family moved nearby when I was young. She became my one companion. My confidant. It didn't matter that she was a Muggle, or so I thought at the time of our first meeting. She was like finding a diamond among ordinary pebbles. The first time I saw her perform a bit of uncontrolled, wandless magic, she apologized in embarrassment." He laughed softly then. "Apologized, as if she'd done something terrible."

Hermione remembered her own early bouts of wandless magic – the confusion and fear of what people would say, how they would look at her. She understood why Lily would have apologized. How she might have been afraid that she would drive her new friend Severus off.

"I'm the one who told her she was a witch. Told her about magic and Hogwarts and the Wizarding world. The day I told her unicorns and dragons were real, she hugged me."

Hermione grinned at the mental image Severus' words painted. She'd been rather giddy herself the day she'd figured out that unicorns were real.

"My childhood was . . . less than ideal. There was little affection displayed in the Snape household. Lily's spontaneous and easy affection was overwhelming." He stopped for a moment, and then continued. "I'd never felt anything like it. I think I fell in love with her in that moment."

He stopped again, checking the potion and adding three phoenix feathers to the mixture, obviously using the distraction to gather his thoughts.

"I was the first person she came to see the day her Hogwarts letter arrived. We went together to Diagon Alley that first time. It was with great pride that I finally had the chance to introduce her to everything I'd been telling her stories about. Then, there was Hogwarts."

"It must have been thrilling."

"It was one of the worst days of my young life."

Hermione frowned in confusion. "You met Harry's dad and Sirius?" she hazarded a guess.

He made a dismissive noise. "They were there, but were inconsequential so long as I had Lily by my side. No, it had simply never occurred to me that Lily would be Sorted any differently than I."

"But you remained friends, even then."

"We did," he agreed. "Our friendship was stronger than House pride or politics, for a while, at any rate. But the very things that drew me to Lily – her brightness, warmth and personality – drew others as well."

"Like James."

"Like James Potter."

He gave one last stir to the potion and then with a wave of his wand doused the flame beneath the kettle. For the first time, he turned and faced her fully. "I did love Lily. A part of me still does, even now when I also acknowledge that she was never going to love me back the way I wanted her to."

"It doesn't matter if she reciprocated your feelings or not. You loving her was enough. It changed you. Made you a better man."

"At the time, it made no difference. Now . . . perhaps. Sometimes, I am not so sure."

"I'm sure," she answered, absolute conviction in her voice.

Severus took a step away from the work table towards her. "You are like her in many ways, and yet different in just as many others. Part of me demands I warn you off. You are too young, too innocent . . . too everything."

He took another step towards her, and the air suddenly changed. Hermione was afraid to move. Not afraid of him, but afraid any movement on her part would halt his slow advance towards her. She did give him another smile, one filled with everything she felt for this complicated, complex man. "I'm always going to be younger. Compared with all the things you have seen and done, I'm afraid that I'll always be an innocent."

He took another step forward, and Hermione finally rose to her feet. She did not move forward, though, but stayed standing on the stair. "As for too . . . everything-"

Severus was looking up at her now. Her vantage point felt odd as she was used to looking up at him, not down. Her heart beat fast beneath her ribs, which made no sense because he'd done nothing but look up at her. He was simply standing there, watching her.

"Severus?" It was more gasp than anything as there didn't seem to be enough oxygen, and she was having a hard time breathing.

His eyes widened, although she wasn't sure if it was because of his name or something else. There was something _there_, in his gaze. Something dangerous and yet thrilling. It called to her, and she took another step down. They were eye to eye now, and Hermione wasn't sure either of them was breathing.

He reached out and took hold of her hand. The sweep of his thumb in a broad stroke across her palm made her knees lock, lest she fall. "Someone once said that it is better to have loved and lost, then to have never loved at all."

She frowned slightly, unsure of his meaning. He was telling her something, and she wasn't getting the subtleties, her senses too muddled and distracted by that thumb that was still sweeping across her palm.

"Severus?"

He shook his head. "I am not sure the speaker was correct – then or now. To be given everything, only to-"

"I'm not going anywhere." She sought to reassure him and was rewarded with a small twist of his lips as the air around them seems to thicken and spark with electricity . . . or maybe magic.

His hand, broad and strong, that held hers so securely moved upward. She felt it, warm and rough with callouses against the side of her face. Her mind blanked as he pulled her towards him. She felt the puff of his breath moments before the soft brush of his lips against her. Once, then twice, and Hermione had forgotten to blink so she saw him pull slightly away. Severus' eyes were darker than she'd ever seen them and she couldn't resist. She leaned forward, trusting him to hold her weight.

This time, the brush of lip against lip was firmer before settling confidently against her mouth. He'd kissed her. Kissed her like every hero ever kissed the heroine in all of Hermione's mother's romance novels. Her only thought was _Oh_ before he'd completely stolen her breath away. Hermione was lost in the feel of him – the touch of his lips, the feel of his hand against her face, the tips of his fingers caught in the tendrils of her hair and the suddenly heavy warmth of his other hand as it settled firmly on her hip.

Of their own accord, her own hands rose, and her fists gripped the front of his shirt. She was somewhere between holding him tight and pulling him towards her. She wasn't sure who made the small noise of contentment as she opened her mouth to him as he ran the tip of his tongue across her lower lip. She was fairly sure it was her. The kiss grew, but still somehow stayed innocent. Severus neither pushed nor demanded more from her, and for several long minutes, Hermione was lost in the taste and feel of him.

Hermione felt the hand on her hip grip tight right before he pushed her back. She shivered at the look on his face before he lowered his head slightly, his hair sliding forward to cover his expression.

"I need you to go upstairs now." His voice was rough and quiet in a way she'd never heard before.

"I don't-"

"Please."

Hermione shivered again, a tremor that she knew he could feel as his hands still held her tight. She wasn't sure what to say, so she nodded. When he released her, she suddenly felt cold. Not the cold of his Occlumency shields, but the loss of his body heat. She took a step backwards and upward, and suddenly she was looking down on him again and unexpectedly afraid - flashing lines and Arithmancy equations floating through her mind. She turned then and climbed the stairs, her sudden fear lending her speed. As she opened the door, she caught one last glimpse of him, half-cloaked in shadow and still standing motionless at the bottom of the stairs.

* * *

She was still shaking by the time she reached her room. He'd kissed her. _Sweet Merciful Merlin!_ Severus had kissed her. Her fingertips found their way to her lips. She could still feel him there. She wasn't sure whether she wanted to twirl around the room or . . . or . . . _"Someone once said that it is better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all. I am not sure the speaker was correct – then or now. To be given everything, only to-__"_

The fear swept back over her. He'd been telling her something. _To be given everything, only to-_ What had he been about to say? Only to what? Lose it? Did he expect to lose her? And his reference to then and now? Did he mean then as in Lily or then as to the time of the speaker of the old proverb?

Hermione swallowed back the taste of bile. Was it a first kiss or a last? Her eyes fell on her Arithmancy project scrolls. Something was wrong there. Something was wrong with Severus. She knew the two were somehow connected, and she was close to seeing the whole picture. She just didn't have all the pieces put together yet. She looked out the doorway to the hall. The part of her still spinning around in giddy disbelief wanted to rush back downstairs to Severus. She shook her head.

What had Severus said: too young, too innocent and too everything? She made a face. Compared with him, she was all those things. But she wasn't as young or innocent as she had been. And that part of her, not the giddy part, prompted her to pull out the scroll she been working on earlier. Settling down in the bedroom chair, she started reviewing her calculations again.

The light coming in through the bedroom windows was red-tinged when Hermione finally set down her quill. She checked her numbers again, hoping for a miscalculation, a switched sign, anything to prove that she was wrong. Oh, merciful Merlin, she couldn't do this.

She was out of the chair and halfway across the room with the idea of talking to the Headmaster when she stopped. A conversation she'd had last summer with Professor Dumbledore floated through her mind. It had been when Severus was hurt and unconscious, and she'd taken offense at what she perceived as Dumbledore's disregard for Severus' life. Dumbledore had said: _"I have asked Severus for much over the years. He has never failed to deliver. I will ask more of him in the future." _Then the Headmaster had turned to her:_ "There may come a time when I will ask it of you. You will have to look within yourself, just as Severus has, to determine your answer. What would you give, Miss Granger, to see Tom defeated? What is it worth to you? I protect as much as I can. I guard all of you with every bit of skill and knowledge at my disposal, but that doesn't mean I don't make mistakes. It doesn't mean that those who stand with me are never in harm's way when the need calls for it."  
_

They knew. Dumbledore and Vector, they knew. Slowly she returned to her seat, sinking down into it and drawing up her knees. Severus knew. And suddenly much of his recent behavior made sense to her. What he'd said earlier made an awful sense. The distance, the look he'd get in his eyes sometimes. He wasn't afraid that she was going to leave. He was preparing for him to leave. He was preparing himself to die.

She waited for the anger to come then. They'd kept this from her. Deliberately. But the anger didn't come. Wrapping her arms around her drawn up knees, she tucked herself into a small ball of misery. She couldn't do this. Her heart felt like it was breaking apart inside of her. She wouldn't do this. Climbing to her feet, she headed out into the hallway and towards the stairs. Severus' room was on the top floor. He was the only one in the house that had a bedroom up there. Climbing the stairs, she settled down to wait for him.

She was still sitting at the top of the stairs when he came up. It was draftier up here on the higher floors, and she'd pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them to keep herself warm. He climbed slowly, each step deliberate, and she knew by the minute pause in his step the moment he saw her there. He would know that she was waiting for him, but like the man she knew him to be, he moved relentlessly forward, stopping only when his eyes were level with hers.

Severus studied her for several long minutes. There must have been something in her expression or body language because he didn't mention the kiss from earlier. Instead, when he spoke, he sounded resigned but not surprised. "You know."

A tiny smile quirked her lips upwards. Never let it be said that Severus Snape was not an intelligent or perceptive man. "Professor Vector says I've a real talent in Arithmancy." She stopped and took a deep breath, using every bit of willpower to keep herself under control. "You can't do it. I won't do it."

Severus took another step up and then lowered himself to sit on the stair, his back against the wall. Distracting herself from his all too knowing gaze, she reached out, running a fingertip along the sliver of white that peaked out beneath the collar on his coat. She'd enjoyed seeing him so casually dressed earlier, but this was the Severus she knew best – dark, with all his buttons buttoned. She'd never seen anyone wear clothes the way he did. The black fabric was clothing, armor and shield all rolled together into one multi-buttoned coat.

Reaching up, he captured her hand in his larger one, stilling her movement. "You will do it. You have to. Just as Potter has to face the Dark Lord."

"I-" She felt her control break as the tears she'd been holding back tracked down her cheeks. Hastily, she pulled her hand free from his, wiping the betraying moisture away.

He brushed the back of two fingers against her cheek, catching a few more stray tears, and she fought to catch her breath. "You have accomplished everything you have ever set out to do, Hermione. This task must be done, and you will do it."  
**  
**She let out a short, tear-filled laugh. "I don't want to be the over-achieving know-it-all." She let out a shuddering breath as his fingers continued their caress. "I want to fail at something. I want to fail at this."

"You do not have the option of failure. Too much resides on you."

She closed her eyes, unwilling to show how much this was killing her.

"Come here."

The words were soft and so quietly spoken that Hermione thought she might have imagined them. She opened her eyes.

"Come here," he repeated, no louder than the first time he'd said them, but this time, his hand was outstretched to her, his palm up and his fingers curled slightly in invitation.

There was no hesitation as she all but flowed into the circle of his arms. It didn't matter that they were sitting at the top of the stairs and anyone could come up and find them. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she pulled herself into him, accepting the comfort he was offering. Tucking her head against the side of his neck, she took a deep breath, inhaling the reassuring scent of him. For all that he had kissed her earlier, this seemed to Hermione to be a far more intimate moment.

His hand, hesitantly rubbing up and down her back, brought on a fresh spate of tears mixed with an uncomfortable urge to laugh. He was completely terrible at being comforting, but he was trying so hard just for her.

"You're supposed to tell me . . . tell me how everything is going to be o-okay."

He shifted her slightly, his arms tightening around her. "I also told you that I would tell you the truth."

"Lie to me." It was plea and prayer and desperate wish all rolled together.

Severus' arms loosened from around her until he could push her away from him. Lifting her head, she met his eyes and immediately wished she hadn't. "What did Vector tell you?"

Dropping her head, she spoke to the floor. "She didn't tell me anything. Even though we aren't at Hogwarts, I've been continuing with my Seventh-year Arithmancy project. I was working on the rogue line that was appearing in Vector's equations." She risked a quick glance up at him. "I wasn't getting anywhere so I started playing."

One brow rose. "Playing?"

"Trying different equations, settings . . . people. And the whole matrix shifted." At his nod, she continued. "I didn't even realize what I was seeing at first. It wasn't until Vector panicked that I really took a closer look. The equations were worrying. I could tell something wasn't right, and I started redoing them. I've been working on them for a few days." Her eyes slid away from him and she picked at a knot on the stair tread with one fingernail. "Then you kissed me," she said softly. "You seemed sad rather than happy. You seemed as wrong as the equations. So I went back to them." Hermione brought her gaze back to his, feeling her own eyes tear up again. "Severus, I'm going to kill you."

The words hung between them, sharp-edged and cutting.

* * *

Author's Note 3:

*House points to anyone who recognizes where the title comes from without having to break out Google. And yeah, I'm a big nerd. I couldn't help myself.

**Author's note 4:** I've noticed a trend – all my scenes where Hermione and Snape get close to each other seem to happen on stairs/floors and benches. I'm rather afraid of about what that says about my psyche. Also, there may be those among you that would just like to lock our favorite duo in a closet and let them work it out. Unfortunately, while I don't think Severus has been celibate all these years, I also don't see him as the kind to just leap to the down and dirty. He's the kind that would go slowly into love, by preference and his own heart-broken history. Not to mention Hermione's innocence and youth scares the bejeezus out of him, plus there is that whole "we who are about to die, salute you" attitude he's got going on.


	48. Ch 46: Three

**Author's Note1: **As those of you who watch my time between updates have figured out, this chapter would simply not come together for me. I can't tell you how many times sections of it were re-written because I was unhappy with them. I also realized that I forgot another rather important piece of set-up. I've added it in this chapter, but it still feels kind of tacked on to me. I hate when I miss laying a groundwork point like that. It just throws off my lovely swirling plots and ends up as loose plot thread. Grrr.

**Author's Note 2: **Seriously, can you believe that we are almost finished? I think there might be two chapters left. Two, people! And an epilogue, of course, because the thought of doing a Twenty Years Later Epilogue makes me cackle with demented glee.

* * *

**Chapter 46: Three**

Severus stared back at Hermione, her words hanging between them. Really, he should have known he would not be able to keep this secret from her. She had the most exasperating way of turning everything he knew, and everything he did, over on its head. "Actually, we do not know that I will die. And we certainly do not know that you are the cause of my death."

"I don't believe you." She grimaced, her face flushing with embarrassment at her words.

Severus suppressed the urge to laugh. Not long ago, he'd have been incensed to be called a liar to his face. Now, her bald-faced honesty amused him. That, more than anything, assured him that Hermione Granger had indeed taken what was left of his heart. Moving up one hand, he smoothed his fingers along her shoulder, finally settling his palm against her neck.

"I will not lie to you."

"But you'll withhold the truth."

The jab was sharp, and he absorbed the verbal blow with only a minor flinch. "I do not deny it. I . . . did not wish you burdened with the knowledge." Unable to resist, he brushed his thumb along the bottom of her jaw. Soft skin and the frantic beat of her pulse met his touch. "My apologies. But whatever happens will not be of your doing."

Rather than his words bringing comfort, fresh tears filled Hermione's eyes. "How-how can you say that? According to the calculations, you are alive before we enter the battle." She paused to get hold of her emotions and wavering voice. "The line – your line – it doesn't continue past the battle, Severus. I'm the only one with you. You die because of me."

He shifted his palm and used his thumb to brush away the new tears. Her tears made him uncomfortable in a way that countless scores of student hysterics never had. The idea that she cared – and that her caring caused her this much distress – was disconcerting. He'd spent so long pushing others away, playing the bastard, that it took conscious effort to break his long established patterns of behavior.

To give comfort and reassurance, rather than to cause distress, did not come easily, but he tried. "Arithmancy is not my field. Even Vector's utilization of it is beyond its average uses. It does, however, have applications for new potion creation in regards to outcomes and probability results based on ingredient addition and preparation." He crooked a small smile. "It is all probability. It does not deal in hard truths. I've had Arithmantic equations say that a new potion combination will yield positive results, only to have it result in dismal failure."

A glimmer of hope flared in her eyes. "You think the matrix is flawed?"

He sat back a little more to lean against the stairwell wall, his fingertips trailing down her arm. He was gratified to see a small shiver follow his movements. Now that he'd given himself permission to touch her, he found it hard to keep from reaching out. "Flawed?" He shook his head. "No, but it is being used to predict the actions of a dozen people and groups across timeframes that have stretched across years."

"But the equations–"

"I do not dismiss that I could die. To do so would be foolish. Any number of things could happen to cause my death. I do not, however, believe you will be the cause."

"But the matrix–"

"Only shows that my line – my equation – ends at the battle. Arithmancy is an inexact art based on interpretation, smoke and mirrors."

She ghosted a smile at him. "Don't let Professor Vector hear you say that."

He held a hand up to her. "Come here."

When she leaned forward, he pulled her up against him. At her soft sigh, he felt something akin to triumph surge through him even as he sneered at himself – Severus Snape snuggling on a stairwell with a former student. It was absurd and wonderful and, if he was truthful, somewhat overwhelming. But she was warm and heavy against him, and her presence brought to life something in him that he'd long thought dead. Leaning against him now, her head on his shoulder, the magic signature that imbued the sheets was unmistakable in its origin. _Potter. Even now, it always comes back to Potter. _

Careful to keep his tone neutral, he asked, "How is Potter doing?"

She twitched in his arms. _He made a mental note to work on his neutral._

"Now that he understands the source of his anger and his moods, he's dealing better with them. It . . . It helps that he has a focus, now."

"Other than myself," he added dryly.

She ignored him and continued on. "Focusing on the Dark Lord and the coming fight . . . it's all he thinks about now. We think we've come up with a spell from the book."

"Which one?"

Hermione shifted against him, her head ducking down a little further. "Harry doesn't want us to say."

Neutrality fled as anger hit him, followed swiftly by annoyance. Her arms tightened around him as if she felt his fluctuating emotions. "We discussed it. Harry's afraid that if _He_ finds out the plan, the real plan, then . . . " She sighed. "Personally, I think he's spent too much time with the Headmaster and is convinced that everything has to be a secret. He's afraid that something will happen. The idea that he's responsible for people's lives terrifies him. If something should go wrong before this fight . . . I don't know if he could recover from it."

Severus snorted. "Something always goes wrong. It is the nature of plans." He took his own turn to sigh. "I cannot recommend this course, but will not force the issue so long as you promise to not let him do anything exceedingly stupid."

She huffed out a breath at his words. "I promise." She fell silent for a long moment. "Severus?" The tremor was back in her voice.

He stroked a hand over her head. "Hmm?"

Her voice was soft. "Please don't die."

His hand stilled and then clenched, his fingers tangling in riotous curls. "Hermione, I cannot promise. But I will try."

She pulled back enough to catch his eyes. "I've watched you, Severus Snape. I've seen your dedication and your loyalty and your sheer will. Your try is better than most people's promises. I'll take try."

Something hot bubbled up through his chest, making his nerves sing with emotions he thought long dead. Try, indeed. For this slip of a woman, he would try. Catching the back of her head, he leaned in and brushed his lips lightly over hears. "I will try," he repeated softly.

As his words washed over her, she pressed forward eagerly.

* * *

Hermione headed back down the stairs, her feet dragging, and her heart, not to mention her body, back up at the top with Severus.

She'd frozen as his lips had brushed over hers. She was much more tactile with him, but her heart sang each time he reached out to her first – to stroke her hair, or caress her skin. He was starting to reach out more, and when her whirling brain had caught up with his kiss, she'd leaned forward eagerly. He wasn't going to be allowed to back away when he initiated the contact like this.

Of course, even in the midst of his slowly deepening kiss, Hermione couldn't help but push her boundaries. It was too much a part of who she was. Her hand that had rested over his heart as he held her, slid down, circling his waist and tugging him closer.

His own hands had moved to her shoulders where one thumb was sweeping rhythmically against her collarbone and sending wonderfully nice feelings through her body.

When her next tug failed to move him closer, Hermione had moved instead, practically crawling into his lap with no real memory of moving.

"Enough."

With that word, she found herself blinking owlishly at him as he finally pulled back. She'd had one more rebellious moment, as she'd basked in the heat rolling off his body, before slumping against him. He'd not pushed her away from him though, but instead had tucked her in close, his long arms wrapping around her. She'd let her own arms slip down his back while she listened to his heart thundering under her ear. A very primal part of Hermione danced in triumph at that too fast beat, but she didn't push again. She was going to let him set the pace. So, she let him gather his breath and take the metaphorical steadying step backwards.

She had understood. She hadn't liked it, but she'd understood. And no matter how much she'd wanted to stay with him, neither of them was ready for that. But the temptation was there, tainted with a building anxiety and desperation regarding the upcoming battle. She didn't want some kind of clichéd eve of battle tryst. So, she'd let him catch his breath and then let him set her on her feet and send her down the stairs to her own room.

But with every step, her fears returned. The idea that she was going to lose Severus before she'd even had a chance to really know him pushed at her. She knew Arithmancy wasn't an absolute, but despite his reassurances and almost promises, Hermione couldn't help but be afraid.

She sent one last look upwards and then continued down the flight of stairs and towards her room, shouldering open the door only to find Ron sitting on her bed, idly thumbing through her copy of _Hogwarts: A History_.

"Ron? What are you doing here?"

Ron gave her a long look before tossing the book to the bed. "Your face and eyes are all red. Have you been crying?"

One hand went reflexively up to her face. "I–"

"Did Snape make you cry?"

She blinked back fresh tears at Ron's protectiveness and the reminder of Severus. "No," she finally said. "It's not his fault."

Ron nodded, but didn't look convinced. Hermione certainly wasn't going to enlighten him about her crying or anything else that had happened on the stairs. Seeking to distract him, she asked again why he was there.

Ron's expression went immediately grave and partially guilty.

"Ron?"

He dropped his gaze. "I'm not sure what to do, Hermione."

"Have you talked to Harry?" At Ron's grimace, she understood. "It's about Harry, isn't it." She said it as a statement, not a question. At Ron's nod, she climbed up on the bed beside him. "Tell me."

"Harry and I were practicing the spell. You know, making sure he knew the words. But . . . "

"But?"

"I didn't say anything to Harry. I mean, I'm not sure. It's just . . ."

Hermione pulled her pillow over to her and hugged it close. Only a little bit of exasperation leaked into her voice as she pushed the conversation along. "Ron, I'm tired. I don't have it in me at the moment for guessing games. What are you trying to say?"

"I think," – his voiced dropped to barely a whisper – "I think Dumbledore has always meant for Harry to sacrifice himself to defeat V-Vol – damn it – Voldemort."

Ice slid down Hermione's spine, and she struggled to comprehend what Ron was saying. "Ron, you can't be . . . I mean, he wouldn't . . . Why would . . .?"

"Harry sometimes tells me some of the things the Headmaster tells him. Not a lot of it, but a little bit, you know? And Snape earlier talking about how Harry's mum defeated You-Know-Who before. It made a kind of awful sense. It's the only way they knew that He could be defeated. And that prophecy – it all fits, Hermione. I think Dumbledore's been moving Harry, moving us, everyone, so that at the right moment, Harry will do something stupid like step in front of an Avada Kedavra and sacrifice himself because he loves us, just like his mum sacrificed herself for him. Think about it. That whole power he knows not bit. It's something that–"

"That the Dark Lord would never do," Hermione finished for Ron. "He would never put others above himself. He doesn't have the capacity to love anyone else like that."

"Hermione, I want to think that Dumbledore had . . . has . . . some plan to save Harry, but I can't see one beyond bringing Harry back from the dead, and I don't think even Dumbledore is that powerful."

A bright surge of hope shot though her for both Harry's sake and Severus'. "What about the Philosopher's Stone? Are we sure it was destroyed? It was supposed to have that ability. Maybe Dumbledore just told everyone it had been destroyed."

Ron shrugged. "It's possible. I don't know. Would Snape know?"

Hermione shook her head. "The Headmaster wouldn't have told him. Too much of a risk that the Dark Lord would see it in his memories." She privately acknowledged that if Ron's suspicions were correct, the Headmaster wouldn't have told Severus, anyway. He'd never have told Severus that he planned to sacrifice Lily's son.

Ron looked as distressed and confused as Hermione felt. "Hermione, I don't even know if I'm right. It doesn't make any sense, and yet it does. And Dumbledore, I don't want to think he'd let Harry sacrifice himself like that, but if you were trying to save everyone, what's one life? What's a couple of lives? I can see it, Hermione. I can understand it. Sometimes you sacrifice a few pawns, or even a higher piece, in order to win the game."

"Have you said anything to Harry?"

Ron shook his head. "How could I? I don't know anything. It's just a guess. You know how he feels about Dumbledore – he's father, teacher, grandfather – all rolled together. You saw how he was when he thought Snape had killed Dumbledore." Ron shook his head. "Harry _believes _in Dumbledore. I don't know how _not believing_ in him would affect Harry."

Hermione felt a headache coming on and pressed hard against her temples in an effort to stave it off. The rage that swept through her seconds later did nothing to abate the pain. "We aren't going to let Harry die." Silently, she added, _I'm not going to let Severus die, either._

Ron looked ill. "What if that's the only way?" he asked, his voice soft with something very like despair.

She turned to glare at him. "It's not. I refuse to believe that."

"Hermione . . . "

"No. I refuse to believe that. You hear me; it's not happening. Severus came up with a different plan. We use the book's magic, and no one dies except the Dark Lord."

Ron was staring at her, his mouth twisted.

"What?"

"It's just . . . " His face twisted. "Severus? You're calling him Severus?"

Hermione flushed, feeling the heat creep up her cheeks.

Ron expression was trapped somewhere between amused and horrified. "I don't want to know." Just as quickly though, his amusement melted away. "Can we do this? Can we really win?"

Reaching forward, she pulled Ron into a hard hug. "I don't have any doubts."

They stayed like that for a long moment before Ron pulled away. "I don't know what I'd do if you weren't here, Hermione."

She punched him lightly in the arm. "You'd find a way on your own. Don't doubt it for a minute."

Nodding, he climbed to his feet. "Harry and I thought we'd practice with the book tomorrow morning. You'll be there?"

"I'll be there."

Ron hugged her one more time and headed out, closing the door softly behind him. Hermione flopped back onto the bed, her emotions in turmoil. Ron couldn't be right. She knew the Headmaster was manipulative. Half the time she didn't even hold that against him. The man did what he had to do. But, still, she couldn't believe that he'd deliberately groom Harry to sacrifice himself on the altar of the Wizarding world.

Pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes, she groaned. "I wish you were here, Rink. I really need someone to talk to."

A faint *_pop_* startled her upright, the movement nearly knocking Rink from where he stood on the end of the bed.

"Rink?"

Rink bowed, careful to keep his footing on the shifting mattress. "How may Rink serve Miss?"

"Rink!" Pushing herself upright, Hermione made a sideways tackle, bringing both of them down in a tangle of arms and legs. "Oh my God, Rink! How did you . . . you aren't supposed to . . . I didn't call you. What are you doing here?"

When a boney finger poked her ribs, Hermione rolled to the side with a grin. Rink, his dignity sorely abused, sat up with a stern glare, but the position of his ears told Hermione he wasn't really annoyed. If she was reading him correctly, she'd guess he was laughing at her.

"Well? What are you doing here?"

"Master of Potions called Rink to bring book to Master. Master not say Rink must return to Hogwarts."

Hermione stared at him a moment. "Why you sneaky little elf. What about Lonny?"

Rink shrugged. "Until Rink told, Rink will stay."

Hermione grinned at him. "I'd like that." Her grin faded. "Will you help me, Rink?"

The elf's shoulders went back. "Rink serves."

She blinked back a sudden rush of tears at the familiar refrain. "Oh, Rink. You don't even know what I need. The last time you helped me, I got you into trouble."

Rink gave her the look that usually meant she was being thick. "Rink serves," he said again.

* * *

From his vantage point in front of the mantel, Severus surveyed the room. The second meeting of the new, expanded Order of the Phoenix had degenerated into chaos almost from the beginning as the older, original members clashed with the younger, newer members. He was heartened to see – though he was careful to keep his usual disdainful scowl on his face regardless of his feelings – that his Slytherins were still sitting in unity with the other Hogwarts students. Alverez, Severus noted, was sitting on the students' side of the room, her wordless solidarity with the younger generation plain to read.

"This is madness."

Severus swung his attention over to Herbert Wills, his scowl deepening. Wills, once again, seemed to be acting as the voice of opposition for the rest of the Order.

"I agree," Potter said in answer. "This is all madness and has been from the beginning. But we have a chance. Now is the time to take it."

"You would lead us all to our destruction."

To Severus' surprise, it was Moody who answered. "You don't have to participate."

Wills' face flushed at the Auror's words. "Now wait a minute . . ." he began angrily.

"No," Moody growled. "No more talk." Moody's mismatched eyes swept the group. "No more talk. We go. You're either joining or not. Decide."

His own dealings with Moody had never been pleasant. The Auror was suspicious and outspoken in his distaste for Severus and his contributions to the Order. But in this instance, Severus heartily approved of Moody's abrupt behavior. The time for talk was over, and it was time to affirm allegiances. As such, he wasn't surprised that Weasley squared his shoulders with a resolute, "I'm with Harry."

Hermione quickly followed, her agreement causing conflicting emotions – pride at her determination mixed with an unaccounted fear at the danger she placed herself into. It had not escaped him that if Vector's matrix was true, and he was fated to die during the coming confrontation, that Hermione would be right beside him. Whatever killed him, could easily turn on her as well.

Willls was still complaining, and Severus heartily wished the man would shut up.

"Fine," Wills snapped. "We are all in. How are you planning on getting us inside? The Ministry has layered anti-Apparation wards. We can't just waltz in and take those down."

A pale and shaky looking Percy Weasley stepped into the room. "I can."

Weasley, to Severus' eyes, looked like a pale and washed out version of his former self. The self-confident arrogance that the boy had always worn like a cloak was gone. He now wore the look of someone who had seen things he wished he could unsee. Severus almost felt sorry for him, as Severus knew first-hand exactly what Weasley had seen.

He did give him some credit, though. According to the story he'd overheard Ginny Weasley tell Hermione, Percy had thrown up on Fred, and then refused to allow the twins to see the memories contained in the Penseive. It was the first sensible thing Weasley had done as far as Severus was concerned.

"I'm part of the planning staff for the Ministry Ball. I can ensure that the wards are brought down at the correct time. I won't be able to keep them down for long. Everyone will have to move in to their targets quickly."

"The house-elves here have also agreed to help," Hermione added. "They'll bring in a few people and won't be affected either way by the wards."

From his seat on the floor, Talon Worth spoke up. "Agnes and I spoke with our parents. They've received an official invitation to the party. They agreed that I could attend the Ball with them. So, I'll already be on the inside."

"Padma and I will be there as well," Parvati said.

"Me too," added Constantine Tartaros, one of the Slytherin contingent.

Harry motioned to Ron. "Ron's made up a list of everyone's assignments and who you are expected to cover."

Ron stood, a scroll in his hand. As everyone's attention focused on him, Severus saw the tips of his ears turn a bright red, but he stepped forward into the room. "Okay, here's what I have for pairings.

"Professor Snape, you and Hermione know what you guys will be doing. When the Ministry Wards drop, we're fairly sure that's the moment when You-Know-Who will call his Death Eaters. When that link is open is when you guys will send the spell. The timing–"

"I am well aware of the need for exact timing. We will be ready."

Weasley nodded, Severus' interruption not even fazing him. He consulted his list again. "Colin Creevey, you'll be with Agnes Worth. I've stationed you two at the entrance of the ballroom. It will afford you excellent cover and keep anyone else out of the room."

As Weasley began to read through the names and assignments, Severus tuned out the words. Ultimately, it would not matter to him. He and Hermione would be outside of the main battle.

* * *

Hermione stared down at the blank piece of paper on the desk. She'd been staring at the same piece of paper for the last thirty minutes and was no closer now to finding the right words than when she started. She tapped her quill absently against the paper and then scowled at the resulting ink spot. Pulling her wand, she vanished the spot. It was the second time she'd had to do that.

The words were all there in her head, swirling around, but she hadn't any idea how to put them in order so that her parents would understand. How do you explain that for seven years, you'd been keeping dangerous secrets, been part of battles and blackmail, that you'd taken a stand against people who wanted you dead, and that you'd fallen in love with your very formidable, and let's not forget older, former professor.

Hermione thumped her head down on the desk. Part of her was tempted to just not write the letter. Another part of her knew she couldn't not explain. If she died, if her parents never knew everything that happened – she couldn't allow that. She couldn't let them not know how and why she had died.

Blowing out a breath, Hermione raised her head. Very carefully, she dipped the quill into the ink pot and began to write.

_Dear Mum,_

_There are so many things that I've wanted to tell you over the years. Things that I probably should have told you, I think. But everything was confused, and I was afraid, afraid of what had happened and also of what you and dad would do. I just couldn't take the chance. But I guess I'm getting ahead of myself, and I really should start at the beginning so you understand everything._

_I met Harry and Ron on the train to Hogwarts. What I didn't tell you was that we didn't become fast friends from that first meeting. In fact, we didn't become friends at all until nearly a month after school began. You see, Professor Dumbledore had hidden a very powerful magical artifact in the school called a Philosopher's Stone. An evil wizard named Voldemort was trying to steal the stone, only we didn't know that at the time. And Voldemort wasn't even a real man. He was possessing our Defence Against the Dark Arts' professor, Quirrell. Quirrell, under Voldemort's direction, set a troll loose in the school._

Hermione paused and read back over what she had written. So much had happened. So much has changed. Picking back up the quill, she set to writing.

"Hermione?"

Hermione's head snapped up. "Wha?"

Behind her, she heard Harry laugh. Spinning around in her chair, she winced as her back protested from being hunched over for so long. Harry was grinning at her.

He brushed his fingers against his cheek. "You've got a smear of ink."

Her own hand raised in imitation before she shrugged. "Not the first time. What can I do for you?"

Harry's grin widened. "Hermione, it's dinner time. I came to get you."

"What? That's not possible. I sat down right after lunch. It can't be more than two."

"Hermione, it's six thirty. What have you been doing all this time?"

"I–" She glanced down at the neat pile of stationary on the desk. "I'm writing my mum a letter. You know, if things go wrong. I wanted her to understand."

Harry's face took on a pinched expression. "Hermione, you don't have to–"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence, Harry Potter. We've been over this. You are not alone, and we will be there."

Harry nodded, but didn't look happy.

"Hey," she said, catching his attention before he could start to brood about the upcoming battle, "Let me finish this off, and I'll be there in a minute. Start without me if you need to."

Harry's expression brightened again, although his eyes were still shadowed. "Start without you? Hermione, you are mental if you think the house-elves in this place are going to feed the rest of us without you eating too."

She let out a little snort of laughter. "Fine. Give me two seconds, and I'll be there."

As Harry left, Hermione turned back to her letter.

_I love him, Mum. It's crazy. I know it is, but I can't seem to help it. The funny thing is, that I think him loving me is even crazier than me loving him. _

_I have to go now. It will all be over Christmas Eve. Either we win or he does. If all goes well, I'll see you in three days. I love you. Tell dad I love him, too._

_Hermione_

Folding the small stack of papers, Hermione sealed them in an envelope.

"Rink?"

When Rink appeared, Hermione handed him the letter. "Can you deliver this to my mum tomorrow, Rink?"

"Rink can."

"Thanks."

Rink bowed, and Hermione forced a smile for the elf's benefit. "Come on. I hear that I'm late for dinner."

Rink nodded. "Miss very late. But elves wait for Miss."

Hermione just shook her head in bemusement.

* * *

Author's Note 3

: Yes, it was a filler chapter. Think of it as a breather before the battle and the battle and the battle, and oh, the battle, in the next chapters.


	49. Chapter 47: Two (M)

**Author's Note 1**: **HERE THERE BE DRAGONS**. There is a second chapter that is rated PG. It is the exact same chapter, just a little less racy. Please read as befits your sensibilities.

**Author's Note 2**: After all build up, I'm rather nervous about being able to carry this off. Not just the smut, mind you, but the whole ending of the story.

**Author's Note 3:** Unbetaed. So yeah, there are going to be mistakes.

* * *

**Chapter 47: Two (M)**

Pulling her hair back with a tie, Hermione contemplated her reflection before making a face and turning away from the mirror. It wasn't the most flattering look on her, due to her hair's frizz-touched, curly nature, but it kept it out of her face and semi-tamed. This afternoon was all about practicality. Breakfast in the Black house had been a quiet affair, but shortly after the house-elves cleared the remaining dishes, Order members had started arriving in ones and twos. No one would be leaving the house after this until it was time tomorrow evening to confront Voldemort.

Now, it was all about last minute strategies, calming frazzled nerves and soothing quick tempers. Truth be told, she was not looking forward to heading back downstairs. A part of her just wanted to hide away in her room, or better yet, hide away in Severus' room. She made another face. _Some Gryffindor, I am_. But, she couldn't help it. No matter what Severus said, Hermione had a bad feeling about the coming battle. She eyed her notebooks and the unrolled scroll she'd stuck to the wall with her own Matrix calculations. A very bad feeling, indeed. Resolutely turning away from the equations, she grabbed a quill and small empty scroll and headed downstairs. By the time she got to the hallway outside of the library, she could already hear the voices within rising and falling in obvious argument.

Shaking her head, she stepped into the room. Along the far wall, one of Vector's chalk boards had been set up. On it was drawn the outline of a large room marked 'Ballroom', with multiple smaller rooms and several hallways branching off from it. Little chalk stick people could be seen in strategic spots along the perimeter of the ballroom and access points. Ron was holding a piece of chalk, and the edge of his fist was white with powdered dust where he'd erased things multiple times.

It looked like there were several arguments going at once in the room. Kingsley Shacklebolt and Tonks were with Ron and Harry in front of the chalk board. The ever-argumentative Mills seemed to be quarreling with the twins, a useless endeavor if she'd ever heard of one. Colin Creevey was arguing with both Agnes and her brother. Agnes was wearing that secretive little smile that always made Hermione think Agnes was older than her years. Talon Worth's expression, while pained, had that edge of big brother indulgence that let Hermione know that particular argument wasn't serious.

Not particularly wanting to get involved in any of the various discussions, she sidled her way around the edge of the room until she came to Neville, who was sitting on the floor watching the room with undisguised interest. Back against the wall, she slid down next to him. "How's it going?" she asked quietly, indicating the room with a tilt of her chin.

Neville flashed a quick grin. "Colin asked Agnes if she'd be his girlfriend. She squealed and hugged him. Then she punched him for asking her right before they go off to fight." He gave her another grin. "I think they have a real future." With a jerk of his head he indicated a knot of people in the far corner. Parvati and Lavender seemed to be holding court with lots of whispering and the occasional high pitched giggle. "I don't even want to know what that lot are up to."

Hermione chuckled and nudged his shoulder. "I understand. Sometimes they make me a little nervous, too. What about them?" Hermione indicated Shacklebolt, Tonks, Ron and Harry.

Neville shook his head. "They've had quite the row. Shacklebolt wants to treat the whole thing as if it were an Auror exercise. Ron keeps reminding him that half of our forces are unknowns and probably rubbish in a direct fight. The people with the set assignments that Ron passed out at the Order meeting haven't changed, but Kingsley keeps trying to move the people that aren't assigned."

"The fighters."

"Yes. Oh, and you missed the Headmaster. He was here a few minutes ago. He was going on about Godric Gryffindor's sword and how he wanted Harry to carry it in battle as some kind of symbol."

"But the sword is in Hogwarts," she said, and then felt like an idiot as the answer came to her. "Professor Snape had one of the elves bring him the book. The Headmaster will do the same."

Beside her, Neville shrugged. "Not sure. But Harry wasn't happy. I suppose I can see the Headmaster's logic. Harry going into battle waving the sword of Gryffindor would be a rallying sight."

Hermione snorted in derision. "A rallying sight if you're a Gryffindor. I don't see it much inspiring the other Houses. It's certainly not going to do much for the Slytherins."

Neville shrugged again. "I suppose." He paused, then added, "Having a talisman can help sometimes."

Something in the way Neville said 'talisman' set off Hermione's suspicions, and she gave Neville a closer look. It wasn't until she got to the bookbag resting against his hip that her suspicion flared into something more like certainty. "Neville, open the bag."

Neville's eyes went wide. "Hermione—"

She glared at him. "Open!"

With a small grumble, Neville complied. Nestled down into the bottom of the bag was the doll of Severus that she'd given Neville so long ago. "I know what you're thinking."

Hermione cast incredulous eyes at a sheepish-faced Neville. "No, I don't think you do." Closing her eyes, her fingers rubbed at the bridge of her nose as she counted to five. When she reopened them, the bag was closed up and resting against Neville's side again.

"He's become my good luck charm."

"Good luck," she repeated in disbelief.

Neville ducked his head in embarrassment. "Yeah, like Muggles and Lucky Dogs' feet."

She had moment of confusion. "Dogs?" Then it hit her. "Rabbits' feet," she corrected automatically. "Lucky rabbits' feet, Neville."

Neville's voice turned thoughtful. "Are you sure? I'm almost positive Professor Burbage, said dogs in Muggle Studies second year."

"Yes, I'm sure, and don't try to change the subject," she snapped in exasperation.

That got her a small grin. "Doesn't really matter. Dogs. Rabbits . . . " He shrugged. "Could be Goblins' feet, I suppose. But Lil' Sev works for me. I'm about to go off and fight. I could die tomorrow. But you and Lil' Sev helped me face my biggest fear. Voldemort can only kill me. But Hermione, Snape . . . he could have failed me."

Hermione stared at her friend for a long minute before the laugh bubbled up, and then she dissolved into laughter, Neville right along with her. Their laughter, seemingly out of place in such a tense atmosphere, attracted the attention of everyone else in the room.

"Hermione!" Harry's voice was filled with relief when he called her name.

She raised a hand in Harry's direction and levered herself up to her feet. Her glare down at Neville was spoiled by the smile still plastered across her face. "Fine, keep him. But for God's sake, Neville, don't let anyone see him."

At Neville's nod of agreement, she headed towards Ron and Harry. "Is there a problem?"

"No," Shacklebolt answered.

"Yes," Ron and Harry chorused.

She raised her brows in question at Tonks, whose face had appearing and disappearing freckles blinking across her nose. _Probably in annoyance_, Hermione thought.

"Shacklebolt wants the younger ones to hang back."

"I keep telling you, we don't have enough people for that," Ron said. "The numbers just don't work. Not if we want coverage." He pointed to the diagram on the board. "I agree we put the youngest and worst fighters at guard points and the perimeter. But everyone else has to be disbursed through the room. It's not like we'll know where everyone is standing. Once Hermione and Snape trigger the spell, our people are going to have to hunt for them."

Shacklebolt didn't look convinced. "I thought," he said, addressing Hermione, "that this spell would knock anyone with a Dark Mark unconscious."

"It will," Hermione assured him. "But there are several unknowns. The spell can't be triggered until the Dark Lord calls his Death Easters. The professor wants us close to the source of the trigger, as well. We also haven't been able to determine how long the effects will last. It could be a minute or an hour. He's concerned about how the spell will spread between the Death Eaters. Does it spread equally, or does it cascade from one to another? If it's the latter, then the last Death Eater hit could be out only a few minutes, where the first could be out for days. The professor wasn't able to delve too far into the spell without potentially triggering the Dark Lord's awareness that we are examining the Mark. It's a risk."

"Don't forget, it's just the Death Eaters that are affected by the spell," Harry added. "They're Voldemort's elite, and they could do the most damage, but he has lots of people that are loyal that don't carry the Mark. When the fighting starts, those people will rally to his call. They're the ones we're going to be fighting – just ordinary witches and wizards that think his way is the right one."

The argument continued from there, going over information that had long since been exhausted. Hermione's own attention soon wandered. Strategy was not her strong suit, and she suspected that this continuing argument was more to give the participants something to focus on instead of worrying about the upcoming fight. It was all interrupted, though, when Dumbledore arrived a few moments later with the Sword of Gryffindor. The room went silent as everyone eyed the Headmaster and his burden.

With what Hermione now recognized as a bit of theatrical flourish, Dumbledore presented the sword to Harry as everyone in the room watched. She had to wonder, though, if she was the only one to realize how reluctant Harry was to take the blade.

"Sir."

"Take the sword, Harry."

Harry's voice dropped low so only those standing close would hear. "It's not the right way."

Dumbledore favored Harry with one of the same looks that Hermione had seen him give Severus on multiple occasions. It was an expression that said you are being difficult, but I know better, and eventually you'll do things my way.

Hermione shook her head when Harry, like Severus, eventually gave in to the Headmaster's insistence. Watching the transaction, she had to wonder when she'd become so cynical, and then couldn't decide if Severus had been a good influence or bad on that particular trait.

As Harry accepted the blade, Dumbledore was all smiles and goodwill. "Excellent, Harry. I understand you don't want to use the blade, my boy. I do understand. But I believe seeing you with the Sword will bring a sense of courage to the group."

Harry made a face that might be interpreted as a smile. "Of course, sir."

Dumbledore patted Harry on the shoulder. "Good." With that final acknowledgement, Dumbledore headed towards the other groups within the room, giving out his own brand of an encouraging pep talk.

Harry swung the blade up. "What am I going to do with this thing? I can't carry it. It goes against the whole plan."

Shacklebolt shrugged. "Wear it sheathed. What difference does it make?"

"Because—" Harry stopped, his eyes on Neville across the room.

"Harry?" They could all hear Ron's – _What are you thinking?_ – in the question.

"Hey, Neville, can you come here a minute?"

Gathering up his bag, Neville headed towards them with a smile. "I thought you didn't want to carry the Sword?" he asked, as he got closer to the small knot of people.

"I'm not going to."

Neville let out a tiny snicker. "I don't know, Harry. You could look good with it strapped to your side. Maybe they can write a ballad about you and the sword after it is all over."

Harry glared at Neville, especially when Ron snickered too. But the glare quickly faded into a wide grin. "I'm not carrying the sword. You are."

Neville's laughter stopped as he looked in sudden panic at the group surrounding him. "Oh, no, no, no," he stammered. "I can't carry that thing."

Harry had an almost evil glint in his eye. "Oh, yes, yes, yes." His grin widened. "It even makes sense. You were the other person that the prophecy could have applied to. So if I'm not going to carry it, you are," Harry said, thrusting the hilt in Neville's direction.

"But the Headmaster—"

"Has been telling me that I need to be the one to defeat Voldemort," Harry interrupted. "And I'm telling you, that you need to be the one to carry the sword."

Neville shook his head, but reached out with obvious reluctance to take the blade as if it was a poisonous serpent. "I'd just like to say that this is a bad idea."

Harry clapped Neville on the shoulder with exaggerated enthusiasm. "Don't worry, I specialize in bad ideas. Welcome to being Harry Potter."

The meeting degenerated from there into drills, although she felt they were less than helpful as everyone's anxiety levels increased. Hermione could feel the tension herself: a ball of hot, churning fear that never seemed to leave the pit of her stomach. By the time lunch was announced, Hermione's emotions were strung tight.

"So, Hermione?"

Hermione winced. She knew that tone. Pasting on a smile, she gave a quick nod to her former roommates. "Lavender. Parvati." Then she turned back so that she was focused on Denis Creevey, her sparring partner.

Her two former roommates weren't dissuaded though, as with a quick sliding step, Lavender planted herself in front of Hermione while Parvati linked her arm around Hermione's wand arm. Hermione shot a pleading look to Denis but the little traitor took one look and scampered off towards the other side of the room.

"I should have known that if anyone was going to attract our little Hermione's attention it would be a teacher."

Hermione groaned. "Lavender, don't go there."

Lavender preened a little bit and winked at Parvati before turning her attention back to Hermione. "So it's true." Dropping her voice she affected a hurt expression. "I, crushed, Hermione. Absolutely crushed. We've been your roommates for seven years and we have to find out this news from Adrian Puce. Puce, Hermione! A Slytherin." She let out a theatrical sigh. "It was just embarrassing."

She eyed her roommates. "You two aren't going to let this go, are you?"

Parvati effectively ignored her question while steering her towards the door. "Why don't you tell us all about it while we go to lunch?"

Feeling like she was heading for the gallows, Hermione let herself be herded along, all the while adamantly refusing to discuss the topic at hand.

* * *

Arrosa Alverez had been a Healer for a long time. She'd known it was her path even before she'd entered Hogwarts all those long years ago. Being a Healer was one of the hardest professions within the wizarding world, something that many lay wizards didn't always realize or appreciate. Being a Healer wasn't just about waving your wand and muttering the correct spell, although she was more than willing to admit that there was a good deal of that as well. Being a Healer also meant being a student of wizarding nature. Sometimes, it was just as important to understand WHY someone cast a spell as it was to understand the spell itself.

She also had a long history with the Weasley family. As the Healer-in-Charge of the Spell Damage Ward, she'd probably had as much contact with the children of the wizarding world as the teachers at Hogwarts did. Sooner or later, she saw them all. The Weasley brood had been particularly steady customers over the years. The eldest, Bill, hadn't been too bad, but she'd seen a lot of Charlie, with his daredevil and fearless nature. In fact, it was around the time of Charlie that she'd taken over the care of the Weasleys personally, rather than give them to one of her staff Healers. The interesting cases, or in this case interesting family, kept a Healer on his or her toes, after all.

When Percy Weasley came along, she'd expected another typical Weasley, but the boy had been a completely different child from the previous two. She'd never actually treated him for any real spell injury until the twins had come along, and Percy had become, willingly or not, their main target and guinea pig. The twins, of course, had been another matter entirely. In fact, considering some of the spells, cantrips and potion accidents that had come through her ward from those two, she'd more than once considered naming a floor after them, or possibly a Healer apprenticeship.

But now, in a strange twist, she was on the search for Percy, every Healer instinct pushing her to find the boy. Seeing Percy enter the meeting the night before, she'd thought the boy had been sick – he had the look of someone coming off a heavy case of Goblin Fever. But she'd been unable to get to him before the meeting had ended, and he'd slipped away into the chaos of the house. But Arrosa was nothing if not persistent. She'd arrived at the Black house early and begun to search, room by room. She found him in a grimy, little room filled with discarded cases and boxes. He was perched on an old travel trunk, his arms wrapped around his middle, his pose one of abject misery.

"Percy?"

Her worry increased when Percy didn't move, his answer spoken down to the floor. "I'm not ill. Please leave."

His quick response surprised her. But then, he'd always been an intelligent child, perceptive in his way. Pulling out her best brusque bedside manner, she barged into the room, snapping, "Who's the Healer, here? You let me be the judge of that."

Percy still avoided her gaze, but he shook his head. "Fine. Wave your wand. You won't find anything." Even that response worried her. Percy was always the one who argued, who offered up his opinion on whatever the subject was. To just sit there, wasn't like the boy.

Frowning, she pulled her wand and triggered a diagnostic spell, surprised to find that Percy wasn't far off the mark. Her diagnostics showed no illness, at least not physically. She did detect unusual readings, however, along some of his magical pathways, though that spoke of emotional trauma. But that wasn't unusual. She hadn't heard the particulars, but from what she'd gathered, Percy had been finally told the truth about Voldemort and the Ministry involvement. It was bound to be causing emotional upheavals. She couldn't heal this, though. It was something he would have to work out for himself.

As she pocketed her wand, she reached out to squeeze his arm. "It's hard to see cherished ideas destroyed, Percy. It will get better."

"Cherished ideas," he mocked softly, his voice filled with bitterness. "I can't even say I didn't know." He spoke down to his hands, avoiding her gaze. "My family tried to tell me. Potter tried to tell me. It was all there. I just didn't want to see it, to believe it."

Arrosa stayed quiet, but then this was often the way. A patient would say they didn't want to talk, and then suddenly it would all come spilling out.

Percy shook his head again, his eyes screwed up as if he was in pain. "It's more than that, you know." He let out a strangled sort of laugh. "I never fitted in with my family. I always knew it. They knew it, too." He finally looked up at her. "I've never told anyone . . . but when I was sorted, the Hat told me that I would do well in Slytherin with my ambition."

Arrosa considered what she knew of Percy. "I agree. You could have made some invaluable contacts if the Ministry was your ultimate goal."

"It was. It always was. Entering the Ministry, working myself up through the ranks . . ." He grimaced. "I had this naïve dream of bringing order to chaos. But when the Hat said 'Slytherin', I panicked. All I could see was my family's reaction if I was accepted into that House." He gave a strangled laugh. "Can you imagine that? A Weasley in Slytherin." He laughed again, softer this time. "The Hat told me it would take great courage and determination if I were to go it alone with my ambitions. That I would, of necessity, stand alone. Then it said that if I was willing to do that, I would need the courage of a Gryffindor."

Arrosa was beginning to see the picture. "When all the talk began of You-Know-Who's return—"

Percy nodded. "I thought that was my courage moment – my time to stand alone in defense of my ambitions and loyalty to the Ministry."

"Oh, Percy." It was like she hadn't spoken, though, as the words within Percy continued to spill forth – words and thoughts he'd never dared tell anyone before.

"My mum's dead. Snape's memories . . . I saw . . . "

"What? What do you mean 'memories'? They put you into a Pensieve of Snape's memories?"

Percy gave a nod, seemingly unaware of her own growing anger. _Snape's memories. Oh merciful, Merlin. If even half of what she suspected about Severus was true, the trauma of those memories on someone like Percy would be devastating. _

Percy shook his head again. A gesture she was beginning to pay more attention to, as if he was trying to shake loose the images in his head.

"But that wasn't all I saw . . . the things he's done and seen." Percy dropped his head, the heels of his hands pressing hard into his temples. "I can't seem to stop it – the memories, all the screams and the smells." His complexion went momentarily pasty, and he swallowed hard. "The smells are the worst," he said quietly.

Reaching out, she squeezed his shoulder. "Percy, Snape's memories . . . I wish I'd been here." She was going to kill Albus Dumbledore. "They should have found a better way. Do you want me to apply an Obliviate?"

Percy's head snapped up. "Yes. But no," he added, as she reached for her wand again. "They were right to use the memories. I don't know if I would have listened without seeing . . . everything. But after the battle. After it's over. Could you?"

"Percy, boy, if you are carrying around those memories because you think you need to punish yourself—"

"No. Not punishment." He gave her a wan smile. "Call it motivation. If I forget . . . if I don't really understand who and what Mr Rowle and Mr Dollort are . . . " He shook his head. "I need to know."

She studied him. He still looked pale, and she doubted he was sleeping. Making a quick decision, she gave him a hard look. "Very well, but you come find me this evening. I'll give you a vial of Dreamless Sleep."

Relief flashed across Percy's face. "I'll do that. Thank you. Can you go away, now?"

Her lips thinned into a hard line, but her words were gentle. "Okay, Percy. But if you need anything, you come find me. You understand?"

At his nod, she left. She was reluctant to leave him, but she was also determined to find one self-styled war general. She and Albus were going to have words.

* * *

As the group approached the dining room, the voices of those already there carried clearly into the hallway. "Of course, I don't trust Snape!"

"You agreed to the plan, Alastor," Hermione heard Professor McGonagall say. "Albus trusts Severus, and this whole plan rests on him."

"I agreed to it, aye. Like it? No, I don't like it. It's the perfect plan to capture every last one of us."

"Quit being such an arse, Moody."

Hermione shook off Lavender's arm as she heard Moody respond.

"It's called constant vigilance, Minerva. Something you lot ought to practice a little more." Moody's voice took on a sly mocking tone. "Or haven't you noticed that Snape is conveniently out of the line of fire with this here plan? Along with that little miss of his he's taken such a liking to."

Hermione sucked in an outraged breath at the ex-Auror's words. She cared less about his insinuations about her character than she did about the insinuation he was making about Severus. _How dare he?_ After everything Severus had done for these people, he still found no respect from them.

"Hermione, don't—"

She heard the words from somewhere beside her, but ignored them, focused instead on the room as she stepped inside. "I've had enough!"

"Miss Granger—"

Hermione stepped past McGonagall, disregarding her as she headed toward Moody and the knot of older volunteers and what was left of the original Order. "You're a paranoid old man, hateful, mean, and unable to see the truth when it's in front of you, even with that magical eye of yours."

The eye in question swung around to her as Moody glared. "The coward's obviously corrupted you, girl. Along with whatever else he's done to you."

"Oh, balls." She thought the voice was Ron's, although it could have been Harry's. She couldn't be sure over the roaring in her ears and the growl escaping from behind her clenched teeth. "Coward? You know nothing about him," she spat.

She took another step forward, sweeping her gaze contemptuously over the group gathered around Moody. "He isn't hiding from the fight. And he isn't hiding from Voldemort." She bared her teeth at the group when they collectively flinched at Riddle's pseudonym. "Do you know anything about this spell we're doing tomorrow night?" Her voice dropped into a mocking sneer. "Or have you all been too busy worrying about _constant vigilance_ to understand it? Have you asked Professor Vector what it means? Or spoken to Professor Flitwick?"

When no one answered, she huffed out a laugh. "No? How about I tell you? Severus Snape is going into this fight and won't even be able to use his wand. He's going to lie down, and I'm going to channel enough spell energy through him to tap into all the other Death Eaters."

Moody snarled at her, his scarred visage making the expression even uglier. "As I said, the coward sits on the sidelines while the rest of us take the fight to You-Know-Who."

Hermione heard something crackle like electricity, but ignored it, as her anger ignited. "He's not a coward!" Without a thought, she flung up a hand, fingers clawing at Moody, as dozens of flickering blue sparks swarmed around him. "You sanctimonious troll. Have you listened to anything Professor Vector's said? Have you looked at the Matrix? Everything! Everything says that he's going to die on those sidelines of yours. I'm going to send so much spell energy through him that HE DIES!"

The last part came out as a scream, her fear pouring into the words. Everyone else in the room was silent, either from her words or from the sight of Moody hanging three feet in the air and surrounded by a halo of angry sparks.

"I see we are going to have to get you lessons in wandless magic." The words fell into the silence, crisp and clear. "You might also want to put Moody down."

Hermione flushed hot and then cold as she realized what she'd just done. Her anger gone, she whirled around, heedlessly dropped Moody behind her where he hit the floor with a _thump_. "Severus." _Oh, God. She'd just told everyone the thing he'd wanted kept quiet. _"I'm sorry. I didn't—"

He waved a hand, ignoring her and the crowd of people watching in avid fascination as he leaned slightly to the right to peer around her towards Moody who was being helped up from the floor by two of Order members. "Remarkable. Lunch was never this entertaining at the castle."

Then, ignoring everyone, he proceeded to sit down, his face showing nothing of his emotions.

Hermione fought back tears, her gaze finding Ron's. He gave her a half-smile. With a tilt of his head, he indicated the table. With a shuddering breath, Hermione raised her chin and took her own seat. She'd already made a spectacle of herself and Snape; she wouldn't make another.

She was ever so grateful as Ron and Harry both took their seats next to her. The rest of the room soon followed, but lunch was a silent affair. Moody never sat down.

* * *

Albus slipped into the room with little of his usual fanfare. He was tired and entirely too old for all of this. He'd fought for this day for so long. He'd be glad to finally lay down the fight. But it wasn't time just yet. There were still things that had to be done and plans that had to be set in motion.

Closing the door behind him, he found Miranda as he expected to: staring at the slowly turning image of the Matrix with a weary slump in her shoulders. "Has there been any change?"

She didn't turn around. "No." The one word was full of angry frustration.

"Miss Granger—" He stopped as a piece of chalk was flung against the side wall to burst into a white cloud of dust.

Miranda finally turned around. "It isn't her," then tempered her explosion with a calmer, "Well, it is her. Severus can talk all he wants about possibilities and probabilities and whatever, but I've lived with this matrix for almost seventeen years, Albus, and I . . . I . . . Damn it, Albus, I've just got to know the man after all these years. And now . . . "

"There have been others lost."

"You say that so easily," she responded, bitterness lacing her voice. "We'll likely lose more tomorrow, but Severus feels . . . personal. Like I failed him, somehow."

"It's not your fault."

She let out a heavy sigh. "Isn't it? Isn't it ultimately mine and yours? You and I have steered this thing since the night you rescued Mr Potter. What if I missed some variable? What if I didn't see something important? The shifting matrix this past year, it was all about Granger. What if I'd known sooner? There have been so many lost, Albus. I don't want more."

"You've done what I have asked you, my dear. Your job has always been to keep Harry alive to defeat Tom. You've done that, as cold-blooded and cold-hearted as the process has seemed at times. But as you keep telling me, even the best Arthimancer cannot tell the future. Ultimately, all of us are expendable to the cause."

Miranda snarled silently, her lips pulled back to expose her teeth. "I don't have to like it."

Albus chuckled quietly. "I should hope not, my dear. But the guilt is not yours to bear."

Trouble eyes met his. "Is it yours?"

"Most assuredly." He gave her a wry smile. "If you double me, just ask Healer Alverez."

She let out a ghost of a laugh. "She doesn't like you."

His smile widened. "Arrosa likes me just fine. We simply have different views on what is needed."

"Is that what you call all the yelling from earlier?"

"Arrosa is a healer. She knew it was her life's path from a very young age. What I have done does not . . . sit well with her." He combed his fingers through is beard in a soothing motion. "We have talked-"

"Yelled."

"We have _talked_. She doesn't like the necessity, but she understands the cause."

"Like Severus?"

His expression shifted, sadness and regret darkening his gaze. "Severus has always understood better than any."

"Has it been worth it?" There was pleading there that Albus wasn't used to hearing from his Arthimancer.

"Yes, my dear. For all the wrong steps, and for all the mistakes, yes, it was worth it. I cannot doubt that, nor should you. Tom cannot be allowed to rise to power. Neither we, nor ultimately the Muggle World, could survive that."

Miranda squared her shoulders, though she still looked unhappy. With a wave of her hand, the matrix winked out of existence and all the blackboards were wiped clean. "If you will excuse me, Albus, I've got some things to do before tomorrow night."

Albus watched her go with a heavy heart. He'd done a lot of damage over the years, but even now, he wasn't sure he would do anything differently. But, he could have these moments now with those who had been loyal to him. He'd already spoken with Minerva. He'd done what he could to sooth Vector's troubled conscience. He'd speak with young Harry tomorrow. Now, though it was time to track down Severus.

* * *

When the library door opened, Severus expected to see Hermione. He'd deliberately sought out the library this evening to ensure that he was alone. Sure that after the debacle at lunch, Hermione would seek him out to apologize or explain or something. He supposed he ought to be furious with her, but he found it was so very hard to stay angry when she turned all that Gryffindor ferocity to his protection, even if he considered it misguided. For all the embarrassment she'd caused him, her defense soothed raw places in his soul that he was just now realizing still existed after all these years. Now he found himself rather disappointed to be faced with Albus instead of Hermione.

"Albus?"

"Good evening, Severus. How are you doing? I trust there are no ill effects from this afternoon's . . . .excitement?"

Severus huffed out a breath. "If you mean have I disparaged Hermione's character and turned her baffling affections from me, then no. If you are asking if I murdered any of the Order members, then again, the answer is no. If you are inquiring if I had a discussion with Flitwick about procuring Hermione some wandless magic instruction before she burns the house down around our ears, the answer is yes."

Albus chuckled. "Good, good."

When Albus continued to stand there, he finally asked, "Was there anything else?"

For a brief moment, Severus thought Albus looked almost uncomfortable before the other man finally spoke. "Severus, I need you to do something for me."

"Of course, Albus." The words were rote. This was familiar – the Headmaster asking for something and Severus doing what he could to accommodate. It was something that Severus understood.

Albus smiled at him then, full of a fond patience that made Severus want to hex the other man. "One more favor, Severus. The last one, I promise. The last in a long line, I grant you." Albus stroked his beard, his fingers tangling in the strands as he gazed off into a distance Severus couldn't see.

This unexpectedly pensive Albus made him wary, but his own impatience drove him to ask his next question when the Headmaster failed to continue. "What do you need, Albus?"

The faraway stare returned to him, but the gaze was still thoughtful. "I've abused you greatly over the years, haven't I? Asking more of you than any had a right to."

This was not anything that he'd expected and he didn't know how to respond , as Albus continued. "I can't say I'm sorry for that, though. I've done what was needed, and I needed you. I can be sorry, though, for what it's cost you."

Severus finally found the words. "What it has cost me? Do you even know?" Severus moved to the other side of the room, his body suddenly filled with a restless agitation. "Merlin bless, Albus, I am not even sure I know what the full cost upon me has been."

Albus nodded, still serene and unperturbed at his pacing. "And so my last request of you."

Weariness flashed through him then, than as he dropped his head, his body stilling. "What would you have of me now?"

"I want you to live."

His head jerked back up. "What?"

"I want you to live. Live in defiance of what I and Tom have done to you. Live despite prophecy or Matrix." Albus chuckled then. "Live to spite me, my boy," he added with obvious relish.

He stood still, too shocked to say anything as Albus gave him one of those thrice-damned twinkling smiles that made you think everything was going to be okay. "I have cared for you, you know. Please do not ever doubt that."

Then as Severus continued to stare in stunned shock, Albus left, the door clicking softly behind him.

* * *

Hermione stood nervously in the narrow hallway, staring at Severus' door. She'd seen him head to the library earlier, fleeing before the curious and prying eyes of the Order members, his expression distant and closed off. She knew that look, so she'd left him alone rather than try to apologize again, and had gone back to working with Harry, Ron and the others while doing her own share of ignoring of whispers. Head held high, she'd done her best, but her thoughts always circled back to the man upstairs. _Great and merciful Merlin, she'd made a complete cock up of everything_. But she could only put off speaking to him for so long. She'd even shamelessly taken advantage of the elves ability to know everything going on around the house and had them tell her when Severus moved from the study to his room.

Now, she found herself here outside his bedroom door with a pounding heart and sweaty palms. She'd had this all planned out. Then she'd ruined everything with her little show earlier, and now, she had no idea how he'd respond to her, much less how he'd respond to her other request. And really, she was getting tired of having to face a grumpy Severus. She couldn't wait for the day he had to face a grumpy Hermione. Buoyed by that amusing thought, she screwed up her courage and rapped softly on the door. A moment later, it swung open to reveal Hermione's favorite Severus – white-shirted and casual, or as her mind insisted on calling him – the unbuttoned Severus.

The scowl on his face smoothed away into something more welcoming, if a bit wary, when he recognized her. "Hermione?"

"May I come in?" The words were out quickly before she lost her nerve.

His brows rose in surprise. "I—"

She didn't miss how his eyes did a quick scan down the empty hallway. "Please?"

He studied her for a long moment before finally giving a slight nod of his head. Stepping back, he held open the door. As she walked into the room, she let out a small sigh of relief. First hurdle down.

The room was much as she had left it the previous summer, still dingy looking and sparse. His only furniture was a narrow bed, a chest of drawers and a small writing desk. She was amused to see that Severus had left the chair and curtains that she had added during his convalescence during the summer. It warmed a place inside her to know that even when they weren't speaking to each other, he'd kept a little bit of _her_ with him.

"It is late. Is there a problem?" She indulged a small bit of wonder that words that would have sent her scurrying a year ago, now just sounded tired to her.

She shook her head. One of his brows rose, and she could tell she'd reached the end of his limited patience. When dealing with Severus, it was always best to just say what she was thinking. Otherwise, he started adding nuances and interpretations of his own. Knotting her fingers together so she wouldn't fidget, Hermione boldly met his eyes. "I wanted to apologize for this afternoon. I know-"

He cut her off with an exasperated sigh. "Part of me wishes to be annoyed with you."

"And the other parts?"

"Realize that you would not be you if you were different, and that I must resign myself to having my dignity accosted on all fronts from now on."

Hermione hid a smile behind her hand and wondered how she'd ever considered him humorless.

"Was that all?"

"No. There was something else."

Again, his eyebrow went up. This time she didn't hide her smile. "I've also come to seduce you." If she wasn't so nervous, she would have laughed at his expression of alarm and how quickly he stepped back from her.

"Granger!"

She did laugh then, a soft chuckle that did nothing to lessen the look on his face. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shock you. It's just . . . This afternoon, and tomorrow and . . . and . . ." She gave him a self-conscious and embarrassed shrug. "I've found a new appreciation for romance novel clichés."

"Romance novels . . . " He trailed off in momentary disbelief. "You do not know what you are saying."

He hadn't thrown her out yet. Taking it as a small victory, she continued in a rush of words. "Everything is coming together, and at the same time, it feels as if it's all falling apart."

"Hermione—"

She knew that tone – exasperation mixed with patience and dismissal. "No," she interrupted before he could try to allay her fears or talk her out of this. "I'm afraid. Afraid of the battle that is coming. Afraid for my friends who could die in that fight. And I'm afraid—" The words choked her, and she had to stop and take a breath before continuing. "I'm terrified I'm going to lose you. And I know what you've said about probabilities and possibilities, and it doesn't make me any less scared. I don't want to lose you before I've figured out what it means to have you in all your complicated, snarky glory."

By the time all the words had gushed forth, she was panting. Her entire body struggling to draw in the air she needed.

They stood staring at each other, a frozen tableau, neither knowing what else to say or what the next move should be. Then she saw his expression change. It was only a small shift, but she'd grown adept at reading what most considered an expressionless mask. A slight narrowing of his eyes and a quick inhale of breath, and she knew she'd lost. "You're turning me away. Why, Severus?"

For a moment his expression looked pained, and then it was gone. "It is not a rejection. I do not want this to be about fear or become some impulsive encounter you'll regret."

"I'm not going to—" She shook her head. "Nevermind," she said with a sigh. Arguing with him now would do her no good, for all that she wanted to rail at him for being a complete, stubborn fool. Gathering her somewhat tattered dignity, she turned around. At the door, she paused. "If you change your mind, you know where I'll be."

She thought she might cry, but no tears came. Instead, more satisfying words flowed forth as she headed down the stairs.

"Stupid."

"Imbecile."

"Pig Fucker."

"Cantankerous goat of all motherless goats."

"Bastard."

The litany followed her down the stairs, and she hoped with each individual step that he heard every word.

* * *

Severus sat on the end of his narrow bed, his elbows propped up on his knees and his fingers steepled against his lips. He was barely moving, the small rise and fall of his chest and the slow blinking of his eyes, as he stared off into a non-existent distance, the only indication that he hadn't been hit with an Immobilation spell. His physical stillness was in direct contrast to the wild gyrations of his thoughts and emotions.

He rather missed the days when the only disturbance to his emotional calm was a run-in with Potter, or a summons to the Dark Lord. Those days seemed so _easy_ now. He couldn't believe her audacity. No, that wasn't right. He could believe it. Her actions were exactly what he would expect of . . . he started to think _Gryffindor. _ That wasn't right. Simply labeling her by her House merely touched on the surface. She was so much more than just 'Gryffindor'. Hermione was bold and at times, pushy. She felt her emotions strongly and wasn't shy about those feelings.

_Isn't that one of the reasons you are attracted to her?_

Hermione was a healthy young woman in the prime of her life, facing what could be a life and death situation. It wasn't as if he'd never contemplated . . . never imagined what it would be like to dig his thumbs into soft flesh behind her knees or what it would feel like to be held within the cradle of her thighs. Yet, even as he'd had those thoughts, he'd castigated himself for having them.

_I am an idiot_.

She'd come to him, bold in her wants and desires, and he'd turned her away. He'd chided her about her fears, but was he letting his own fears control him? So many fears and a lifetime of caution. But, could he reach out and take what he wanted? Wasn't that his biggest fear – to potentially lay down his life when he had nothing to lose was one thing. To lay down that life after having a taste of everything the future could be . . . could he do that? Could he be that unselfish? That strong? That unafraid?

The answer was, he didn't know.

* * *

Hermione wasn't completely asleep when the door to her room opened, but hovering in that in-between place between consciousness and dreams.

"Severus?" She blinked at the apparition in front of her.

Moonlight dimly lit the room, and for a moment, she wasn't sure what she was seeing. Severus stood just inside her doorway, still unbuttoned, his hair ruffled as if he'd been running his fingers through it. Most amazingly of all, Hermione could see the long, elegant lines of his feet sticking beyond the edge of his trouser legs. She had a flash of memory to a long ago night when she'd appeared to him. He'd asked her, 'Are you real?' She understood the question now and turned it back on him. "Are you a dream?"

He shuffled his feet slightly, his expression one of what she only describe as nervousness, a look that was so at odds with the Severus she knew. "I—" He stopped.

Hermione held her breath. She was wide awake now as she watched him.

Severus moved towards the bed, a fluid grace to his steps that forced the air from her lungs. "This is what you want? I am truly your choice?" The timber of his voice was low, sliding across her skin and leaving shivers in its wake.

"Yes."

"It is foolishness."

Some of her tension fell away. _How could she not love this man?_ "Probably," she agreed. "But I may die tomorrow. You may die tomorrow."

He didn't come any closer, and Hermione realized she was going to have to come to him, to take that first step before meeting him in the middle. But then, she thought, maybe that's what he was counting on. To let her push them to the next level, into taking that forward step when he was unable to do so, be it because of fear or a life lived cautiously for far too long.

She slid out of the bed. He shifted on his feet as she brushed past him to lock the door, the sound of the metal key turning in the lock loud in the room. She returned to stand in front of him, bare toes to bare toes. The sight caused her to grin in amusement.

He surprised her by reaching out and pulling her to him, nestling her against the hard plane of his body. He was such a contradiction – push, pull, want, don't want. "You confuse me to my wits' end," she murmured against his shirt.

He let out a soft chuckle. "We are well matched, then, as you confound me at every turn. But more than that, you terrify me."

Brushing her cheek against his chest, she felt his heartbeat thumping hard in his chest, its wild rhythm so at odds with his seemingly distanced and calm exterior. Turning her head slightly, she brushed her lips across the bare sliver of skin showing at his collar and felt his fingers bite into her shoulders before sliding down her arms.

Daring greatly, she reached up and undid the top button on his shirt. "I don't mean to terrify you."

"I am aware of that. It does not make it any less true."

He watched her with concentrated focus as she slipped the next button free, but he said nothing. She shivered under the heated regard. "Don't let it get out that the most feared teacher in Hogwarts' history is afraid of me. It would devastate your reputation."

"Impudence."

The word was said with all the heated disdain of Professor Snape at his most acidic, but it was in direct contrast to the warm press of his hands as they skimming along her body.

She leaned back from him slightly so she could see him. "It's a terrible character flaw. Along with bossiness, the ability to embarrass you, and a tendency to leap before looking."

His expression was severe, but she caught the laughter in his eyes. "You forgot stubborn."

Going up on her toes, she brushed her lips against his in reward for playing along with her silliness. "That's not a flaw," she murmured.

"No," he agreed, when she pulled back. "I suppose when dealing with me, stubborn is probably a virtue." His voice had dropped to a deep rumble, the words raspy as they flowed over her. "I was not rejecting you."

"I know."

"We also need to discuss your deplorable language skills." He cocked a brow at her. Deliberately this time she was sure. "Motherless goat of all motherless goats?"

She huffed out a laugh. "My grandmother's favorite thing to call my grandfather." She undid the last button and watched as the shirt parted. She trailed a finger along the pale exposed skin, ruffling the fine dark hairs that swirled across his pectoral muscles. "Teach me to curse later."

He sucked in a breath as she flattened her hand against his skin. "Very well."

"Severus." She didn't know how to say what she wanted, to make him understand that she'd gone just about to the limits that Gryffindor courage was going to take her at this moment, but he seemed to understand, as one large hand fisted into the back of her nightgown, drawing the fabric up.

From his expression, she expected fierce. Something more along the lines of the toe-curling kisses they'd already shared, the ones that left her breathless and half-dazed. She was surprised when the first brush of his lips against hers was soft. She returned the gentle pressure and was rewarded with a second kiss, this one a little firmer, but still astounding in its gentleness. It melted Hermione down to her toes. Any hesitation or fear she'd had about taking this step melted away.

He must have felt the smile that curved her lips. "Why are you grinning?" he asked, pulling away just far enough to look down on her.

Her grin widened. "Because you're never what people expect you to be."

One brow rose up in question. She kissed him again. "It's a good thing," she clarified.

He seemed to accept that as the hand grasping her nightdress shifted, pulling the material up further on her back. The hand that had been loosely holding her hip now flowed up her spine. Feeling the warm skin of his hand slide up her back caused her to gasp and arch into the sensation.

"Hmm, sensitive."

She sucked in another ragged breath as that hand pressed her against the long length of him, the exposed skin of his chest hot through the thin fabric of her nightgown. His lips moved down to that soft spot below her left ear, before he continued, his breath hot against her skin. "But then, I've noticed you seem to have a . . . particular fascination with my hands."

Hermione's knees buckled.

The hand that had still been splayed across his chest slid up to clasp his shoulder as she sought to hold herself steady. The other wound behind his neck to tangle in his hair, as Severus used his most dangerous weapon – his voice and his words – in a way Hermione had never dreamed of.

"Just imagine what my hands can do to you," that insistent voice rumbled, as the hand in question smoothed up her spine, gathering more of her nightgown with it. She couldn't help the shiver that rocked her body. His hands weren't smooth or soft, but battle-scared and calloused. She could feel every rough spot as they moved across her skin but they were also sure and knowledgeable and she'd had more than one fantasy about them.

"Severus." His name was a quiet gasp.

A deep rumble of laughter and Hermione realized that her eyes had fallen closed. Forcing them open, she found Severus staring at her, lips quirked in a lazy smile, his eyes so dark she felt she could fall into them.

Rising up on her toes, she pressed her lips up under his chin, kissing along the open collar of his shirt. He groaned softly, his other hand sliding up her spine to join the first in a trail of fire.

_Words_, her scattered wits insisted, give him the words. She was Hermione Granger. She could do words. She was good with words. _If only his fingertips would stop_, she thought, then dismissed the idea. She definitely didn't want those hands and fingers to stop.

_Words_, her brain insisted again.

Nuzzling beneath the open collar, Hermione licked a path across his collarbone. "Strong, capable hands," she agreed, pleased at finding the words she wanted through the haze of her tumbling thoughts. "I love watching you work. I can imagine . . ." she trailed off, not quite as bold in reality as the Hermione in her head.

One hand left her back to tilt her head back. He kissed her then, hard, his mouth pressing hers to open. She groaned against him in appreciation, her tongue tangling hotly with his.

All too soon he was pulling back again, even as she made a small noise of protest. "When you are ready, we will have to compare your imagination with my own."

A dizzying heat swept over her, completely erasing her next words as her – very active – imagination conjured all sorts of things she'd heard and read over the years. She blamed her swirling thoughts on missing the movements of his hands, right up until they swept her nightgown up and over her head.

Panic and something like embarrassment chased away her beguiling thoughts, as instinct urged her to cover herself from the gaze that swept over her form, a dozen insecurities and fears clamoring for her sudden attention.

"I—"

He caught her wrists and pulled her close as he stepped into her and she forgot about panic and embarrassment and pretty much everything else as he sent her senses reeling.

Bare skin against bare skin and mind numbing kisses and Hermione could think of nothing else. It was during a small lull, as they both caught their breaths, that she blurted, "I don't know what I'm doing." The words were uncomfortable, making her flush with embarrassment. The last thing she wanted to do was highlight again the age and experience differences between them, but she felt she had to be honest.

He paused. "I had . . . assumed that to be the case." One of his fingers brushed along the tops of her breasts, before meandering its way down. "I will endeavor to make the experience as pleasurable as possible."

She arched up, unable to do anything but push up into that tantalizing touch. Hermione let out a pleased, if still somewhat nervous laugh. Leave it to Severus to sound so formal at a time like this." Stretching upward, she gave him several lingering kisses as his clever fingers played along her body. "I never doubted that." She kissed him again. "You've never been a man to do anything in half-measures."

Severus had fucked any number of women over the years. When Lily had married James Potter, he'd drowned his anger and hurt in the most base ways possible, in some of the darkest corners of Knockturn Alley. His friends, those that would eventually become his fellow Death Eaters, had been only too eager to indulge and urge him on.

Eventually, he'd grown tired of the emotionless encounters as they'd done nothing to fill the aching hole that Lilly had left within him. After a while, his encounters had simply become routine. When his body demanded release, he'd sought it out. It was passionless and cold, but ultimately efficient and discreet enough that he did not need to worry about compromising his position with the Death Eaters or as a teacher at Hogwarts. It was his very history that now gave him pause. Used them. Fucked them. Bought and paid for their time. He'd never made love to any of them. Never had any of them make love to him.

He felt unaccountably nervous as Hermione stared up at him with trusting and loving eyes.

Trailing his fingertips along her skin he marveled at her faith in him. She'd been shy about her body earlier and now she stood before him in nothing but a scrap of cotton and trusted him.

"Kiss me?" Her words were breathless and soft.

He could not refuse such a request. "You enjoy the kissing." Leaning down he placed a teasing kiss on her lips, before nuzzling along her jaw line to her ear. "There will be more kissing," he breathed, enjoying the shudder his words caused.

Then slowly he spread his hand wide and pushed. She took a step backwards. Severus rewarded her action with another kiss. Step by slow step, kiss by kiss, he maneuvered her across the room until they reached the bed. He swallowed her startled "Oh" with a deeper kiss as the back of her thighs hit the edge of the bed.

Hermione needed no urging from him, but eagerly hopped up on the bed, shifting backwards until she reached the headboard. He took a moment to remove the white shirt she'd unbuttoned earlier and shifted his hand down to the button of his trousers. There he paused, giving her a swift glance from beneath his lashes. Her eyes were focused on his hand and the erection straining the cloth of the trousers, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. She was breathing heavily, the movement causing her breasts to rise and fall in an almost hypnotic fashion.

"Take them off."

The words were soft, but clear. He slipped the button free and then stepped free of the confining clothing. Within a moment, he was straddling her on the bed, his hands and legs bracketing her body.

Hermione hummed her approval, a noise Severus was coming to associate with her being happy and pleased. It made him wonder what other noises he could pull from her. Sweeping down, he latched onto her lips again, this time a little harder, a little more aggressive. She responded beautifully, snaking her arms up and around neck, arching up into the space between them so that her weight pulled him down on top her.

Her heat scalded him and sent his blood pounding through his body, but nothing could have prepared him when Hermione opened her legs, and Severus dropped down between her thighs.

Hermione gasped beneath him, her head thrown back on the pillow as her chest thrust up and forward. Severus took the opportunity presented. Sliding down her body, he kept his weight pressed against her. He proceeded to lick and kiss a broad path across her skin. Shifting slightly he rasped the slight stubble of his cheek against her left nipple and heard her give that delightful deep-throated hum again.

Nibbling his way up the slope of her breast he teased the very tip of her nipple with his tongue until Hermione bucked beneath him in her desire for a firmer touch.

"Sever . . "

She never managed his whole name as he closed his mouth over her nipple, catching it carefully between his teeth and adding firm strokes of his tongue to the flat top of it. He was rewarded by a high, breathy moan that shot straight through his own body causing his cock to strain against the confining fabric of his pants. She made the noise again when he caught her knee and pulled it high up along his hip.

"Such delightful sounds you make, Hermione. I am eager to learn them all."

Her head shook from side to side on the pillow, whether in reaction to his words or his actions he wasn't sure. Turning his attention to her other breast, he caught the nipple and worried it with teeth and tongue as he had done the other, hoping to elicit another of those delightful noises. It wasn't long before he was rewarded, her gasps and mews of pleasure rising louder as moved to concentrate his attention on the sensitive underside of her breast.

"Stop! Wait." Her hands, once kneading into his shoulders, now pushed him away. "Stop. I-" She was panting, trying to catch her breath.

He immediately pulled back, rising up on his elbows. He searched her expression, fearful that he'd find hurt or that she'd changed her mind. Thankfully, he found only embarrassed frustration staring balefully back at him.

"Ah. Too much."

"Sorry." The embarrassed flush deepened, a flush that he tracked as it spread tantalizingly down her body.

"I will remember," he murmured, lowering his head to trace along the path of the blush, even as she pulled at his shoulders to urge him closer.

Keeping in mind her sensitivity, he let one hand comes up to cup her breast, fingers light and tickling. When she was once again moving against him, he let his hand roam downward. He briefly clasped her hip, pulling her body tight against him and thrusting into the vee of her thighs, letting her feel him and her own reactions as they slid together. Hermione's arms tightened, clutching at him as she sunk blunt nails into his shoulders.

She shuddered as he drug his thumb up over her hip and down across the soft skin of her inner thigh. But it was the noise she made as he continued the movement across her damp panties that pleased him the most. The hum had deepened down to a rumbling purr that he could become quite used to.

He rubbed his thumb across the cotton fabric again, pressing harder and using the friction of the cloth to drive her higher. Shifting further down her body, dropping sucking kisses along the way, he murmured delightfully wicked things against her skin. Everything he was feeling, how she tasted, what he was going to do to her. He made mental notes every time something he said caused her to twitch or moan just that tiny bit louder.

He paused when he reached her knickers, but she made no move to stop him when he slid them off her legs. "Exquisite."

"Severus . . ."

"You are exquisite," he repeated. "Let me see you." Running his fingers over the damp curls at the apex of her thighs, he picked back up his running comments. "Have you ever screamed, Hermione? Not in anger or pain, but from pure pleasure?"

She made an inarticulate noise at his words.

Spreading both palms across the curve of her thighs, he pressed outward until she opened to him. "You are trembling, Hermione. Such a delicate little movement. I wonder what it would take to get you to shudder. Shall I try?" He blew a gentle stream of air across her sex and chuckled when she did indeed shudder. But he wanted so much more from her.

Closing the last few inches between them, he licked her open in a broad sweep of his tongue. The first taste of her burst against his taste buds like the finest brewed potion – heady and sweet, with an underlying tang of pure Hermione. "Yes, exquisite, indeed." Curling his tongue, he searched until he found the small knot that would drive her over the edge.

Alternating between flicking his tongue and applying delicate sucking pressure, he drove her upwards until she was writhing and bucking against him, unconsciously using the strength in her legs to direct him and apply even more pressure where she desired it.

Severus reveled in her reactions – her easy acceptance of her own passionate nature, the sounds of her pleasure that were now a steady stream interspersed with curse words that he didn't even know she knew. But what thrilled him the most were her hands which clutched at any part of him she could reach. He was doing this to her and she was enjoying every minute of it.

Lifting his head, he gazed up the long plane of her body and maybe truly realized for the first time, that this extraordinary young woman was his. Taking the time to watch her twist and arch, he replaced his mouth with his fingers. "Such a varied vocabulary you have," he crooned. "Such filthy little words from such a good little Gryffindor."

She let out a particularly loud moan and he rewarded her by dipping his head to her again, moving his fingers down and into her, setting up a driving rhythm.

Her moans were constant now, rising higher and louder, punctuated with half formed words. Her hands abruptly left his shoulders to dig into the sheets beside her thighs and Severus knew she was close. "Break for me," he rumbled against her flesh and break she did. Her back bowed up, she twisted hard, her legs jerking as the hum he so adored rose into a high-pitched whine that she kept locked behind clenched teeth.

Severus rode out every twitch and very buck of her body, using his long fingers to draw out the spasms that racked her body. He only eased up when she subsided into a series of tiny involuntary muscle twitches.

Hermione rolled easily into his arms, her body practically boneless, when Severus crawled up back to lie beside her. Tucking her head into the hollow where his shoulder met his chest, he waited for her to stir while fiercely ignoring the demands of his own body. Knowing Hermione, it wouldn't take long.

"I . . " She paused, turning her face almost fully against his chest and dropping a small kiss there. "What does one say after that?"

He rumbled a laugh. "Thank you. That was nice. Perhaps, my Severus, you are extraordinarily talented."

She snorted in amusement and then dropped another kiss onto his chest. "Thank you. That was _very_ nice. And, my Severus, you are extraordinarily talented."

"Impudence again."

She hummed her agreement, but Severus was more taken with her wandering fingers than her reply. Youth and curiosity had obviously revived her. Her touch was light and tickling as it traced across his chest. When her thumb brushed across his left nipple he couldn't control the reaction the touch elicited.

"You enjoyed that?" The question was somewhat hesitant, as if she was unsure. Knowing her inexperience and her own Gryffindorish nature, he put aside word games and gave her a direct answer. "Did you enjoy what I did to you?"

She blushed, a delightful rose that spread downward from her cheeks to her chest, but she met his eyes squarely. "Yes."

"I'm not as sensitive as you are, but the touch is pleasant."

She raised a brow at him, something he suspected she'd learned from him, before bending down to lave the flat of her tongue across his nipple. He sighed in encouragement and that was all she needed as her lips and tongue soon began to explore the expanse of his chest and ribs, her hair falling down around her face to tickle his side with teasing touches. She stopped only when she came to the thick line of black hairs that trailed down below the waist of his pants.

Once again, her eyes came up to boldly meet his, her smile one of mischievous intent. He couldn't help but chuckle at that look. So innocent and yet so not. That was Hermione. Raising his hips, he let the invitation stand. Fingertips hot against his skin, she slid his pants down and off his legs.

"Oh."

She didn't quite meet his eyes this time. But that was to be expected from someone new to this game. He caught her hand. Slowly, so as not to startle or alarm her, he placed it flat against his chest, his own over hers. With deliberate movements, he drug her hand down his chest and across his stomach.

Her breathing had increased he noticed, becoming fast and more shallow. She was becoming aroused again by touching him.

He pressed slightly harder as her fingers passed through the trail of hair on his lower abdomen, but finally wrapped her hand around the base of his cock.

"I never-"

He didn't let her finish, simply moved her hand up, squeezing and releasing to show her what he wanted.

"Oh."

Eyes wide and her lower lip caught between her teeth again in concentration, Hermione learned his body. She always had been a quick study and it wasn't long before her other hand joined the first.

He'd meant to be quiet, but it had been too long and he was wound tight. He couldn't contain the groan as her fingers danced over him. Unskilled she might have been, but she was nothing if not curious. When her thumb brushed against the underside of the head, he thrust up into her hand, his movement jerky and uncontrolled. She did it again and seemed pleased when his hips followed her movements of their own accord.

His eyes slid closed to better savor the tight rushes of pleasure radiating through his body so he was completely unprepared when he felt the swipe of her tongue across his head.

"Sweet Merlin!" His eyes flew open to find her bending over him.

"Hermione," he warned with a groan.

Her smile was impish and somewhat embarrassed. "All the books, you know. I wanted to . . .to taste."

"Taste?" His normally smooth tones sounded rough in his own ears. _She wanted to taste? _Some of the threads of his control snapped. Swiftly rising up, he caught her and spun them until he was braced over her body. "We can discuss your reading habits later. But if you wish this to go to its inevitable conclusion, I will not be on the menu this evening."

He caught her frown with a kiss. "Later?"

"Later," he agreed. "I will be a veritable buffet for your insatiable curiosity."

* * *

Hermione ran her tongue over her lips, _tasting_ Severus again. She'd been fascinated by the way his body had moved as she'd stoked him. It had made her feel powerful in an unexplainable way to know that she was the one who'd put that pained-pleasured expression on his face.

But now, he was touching her again, that so masculine part of him nestled up between her legs. Every so often he would sift and slide against the wetness there and she wanted nothing more than to thrust against that tormenting feeling. She'd never realized just how much her body could feel until Severus had begun touching her. Such wonderful feelings he made bubble up within her.

He was braced over her on one arm, his other hand clutching her hip. He'd touched her intimately that night, but now, that touch and the look in his dark eyes was enough to make her bring her hands up around his neck. She locked her gaze to his as once again he brought her thigh up and over his hip, opening her to him.

She knew what was coming and struggled to hold onto the pleasurable haze he'd created within her.

"Relax," he murmured into her ear and she shuddered at the feeling of the word flowing across her heated skin.

She tried, but it was so hard when he covered every bit of her. She could feel his heartbeat thumping wildly against her chest, and feel the gust of each of his breaths against her neck as he rose a little higher over her.

"Look at me, Hermione."

When she did, he made a noise of approval and his palm moved down from her hip to curve around her bottom, changing the angle of her hips. There was weight and pressure and she automatically shifted backwards against the unfamiliar sensation.

_Oh._

Her eyes squeezed shut and she gasped, only to find Severus' lips capturing hers, drinking her in.

_Oh._

The pressure increased.

_Oh._

He thrust forward.

"Oh!".

For long moments she knew only pain. Gradually she became aware of Severus' voice in her ear. The sound was comforting and encouraging. She was used to listening to that voice, so she did her best to follow the words, slowly unclenching her body and relaxing her arms and legs. As she relaxed, the pain ebbed until it was a dull ache centered deep within her. But soon another feeling completely overrode the ache. She could feel him. Severus was seated deep within her body and just the idea of him being inside her was enough to make her shift upwards against him.

"Easy," he hissed. "Slow."

His voice sounded strained to her ears, as if maybe he too was amazed at being part of her.

"Slow," he repeated. Only this time the word was accompanied by a shift of his hips.

"Slow," she agreed, as she sought to learn the rhythm and follow along as he set a slow in and out pace that soon wrung long moans from her.

Soon she was using the leverage of her legs to meet his thrusts. It felt good, but nothing like the pleasure he'd wrung from her earlier with his mouth. She knew that this act could be, would be, that pleasurable. Even now, she could feel small tremors when he moved a certain way that hinted at what this could be. She suspected that the ache she could still feel would prevent another orgasm, but she wasn't concerned. She was too transfixed with the sight of Severus' face as he moved over her. Eyes closed, his jaw was clenched and his brow furrowed in concentration. He was beautiful to her eyes.

Snaking a hand behind his head, she tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling his head backwards until he exposed the long, pale column of his throat. With a hum of pleasure she latched onto his throat, kissing and sucking at his skin.

* * *

Eyes clenched tight, Severus listened to Hermione beneath him. Her earlier moans of pleasure were reduced to just the occasional gasp or hum when he got the angle just right. He wanted to open his eyes and take in the sight of her beneath him but he was afraid that his control wasn't that tight. As good as she felt around him, he was afraid the sight of her would tip him over too soon.

His careful control was lost though as she pulled his head backwards in order to plant sucking kisses across his throat. With a growl, he shifted, rising up higher over her to increase the length and power of his thrusts. He worried briefly about hurting her but she raised her legs, planting her feet and giving him even wider access.

_Sweet Merlin. _"Hermione."The word might have been roared for all that it came out as a ragged whisper. Head thrown back, Severus lost the last of his control.

As he came down on top of her, Hermione enveloped him with her arms and legs, a safe cocoon of warmth and woman. He wanted nothing more than to sink into her and rest in the sweetness of her love for him. But he wasn't quite done yet, not with her. Pulling out of her sweet body with a groan, he slid backwards.

"Sev— Oh."

Whatever she'd been about to ask was lost as he dove back between her legs. Latching onto her clitoris, he sucked hard. It lacked the grace of his earlier efforts, but he was damned if he was going to let her go without making sure that she always remembered this encounter with him as one filled with pleasure. Hermione didn't seem to mind his lack of finesse as she started almost immediately to buck and twist beneath his assault. Mindful of her potential soreness, he didn't thrust but rather pushed and twisted his fingers shallowly within her.

She lasted less than two minutes before she broke apart once again and Severus felt a sense of satisfaction and love that he couldn't say he'd ever felt before.

* * *

Hermione found herself lying boneless against Severus, her head resting on his chest as she listened to the slowing thump of his heart. _Merciful Merlin. She owed Lavender and Parvati an apology. Not to mention, if they all survived the coming battle, she was so borrowing some of Lavender's racier books and magazines_.

She hummed a bit in contentment and adjusted herself into a slightly more comfortable position. She never remembered falling asleep.

* * *

She was sprawled next to him, her body half covering his, her hair a tangled curtain obscuring her face. He fought the urge to laugh. He should have known that she wouldn't curl against his side like some delicate flower nor pull away to the opposite side of the bed like a ravished virgin. No, Hermione Granger took over – his body and the bed – just as she had every other part of his life, limbs and that damnable hair, now inescapably twinned around him.

Well, the cynical part of him amended, inescapable for however long his life lasted. He didn't think even her hair could follow him into whatever afterlife he was destined for. The arm thrown haphazardly across his chest monetarily tightened its grip around his ribs before relaxing again, almost as if in response to his dour thoughts.

_How had he come to this?_ If even a year ago he'd been told that Hermione Granger would be wrapped around him on the eve of the battle against Voldemort he'd have thought them mad. It was all so very strange, so very unlikely.

He yawned into the darkness.

Yet, he was warm and sated and oddly enough, loved. _So very odd, indeed_, was his last thought before sleep claimed him.

* * *

Hermione woke to the sound of her name. Blinking groggily, she found Severus dressed in potions Master regalia standing stiffly by her bed.

"Severus?"

"Good morning."

"Good . . . what?" She was tired and never at her best in the morning. But she was fairly sure that this was not how post first time sex was supposed to go. At least she didn't remember this scenario in any of her mother's more lurid books. Then again, she thought, this is Severus. Nothing with him ever went the way she thought it would. Attempting to wake up, she stretched, and then winced as a series of deep aches and pains made themselves known.

"Drink this."

Three small potion vials were thrust under her nose. She only recognized one. "Pain killer and . . . "

He shifted on his feet, and cleared his throat. "Pain killer, something to ensure against pregnancy, and a mild healing potion. It will help." His eyes met hers steadily, but she could see the tension in his shoulders. He was nervous, almost wary and she realized that her actions now, even more so than last night, could send him running once again.

Reaching forward, she caught his hand rather than the vials. With a quick twist, she slid from the bed to stand before him naked. She could feel the blush that swept over her skin, but deemed the embarrassment worth it as the pupils in his eyes dilated, becoming even more impossibly dark.

With slow movements, she downed each vial before rising up on her tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his lips. "Thank you, Severus. That was most kind to think of me."

She watched an embarrassed flush tint his cheeks a delicate pink. "Get back into the bed." The words were harsh but didn't match his tone and Hermione hid a smile against her shoulder as she climbed back under the warmth of the bed covers. She reveled in that warmth as Severus left to begin what could be their last day.

* * *

The atmosphere in Grimmauld Place was tense as everyone waited until evening. It didn't help that it was filled to capacity with everyone who would be going on the raid. The old house was large, but that many people, short-tempered and on edge, was a disaster in the making. To make matters, and Hermione's temper even worse, she hadn't seen Severus since he'd left her bed in the early dawn light. He'd not skulked off, nor acted in any way regretful, and he had given her the healing and pain potions, so she wasn't suffering any silly post-virginal insecurity. But she'd have liked to see him. He made her calm, and she could do with some calm right about now.

But it wasn't to be and all too soon the appointed hour arrived. Only then did Severus appear, expression closed off. The Order members moved aside as he walked through the assembled crowd to stand beside her. She could feel the cold she associated with his Occulmancy radiating off of him. He didn't speak but nodded to her. She knew she wasn't going to get more from him at this moment. Wiser now, she didn't press him, but let him have his own peace.

Instead she stared around the room at the assembled witches and wizards. They were such a rag-tag looking bunch, she wanted to laugh. They looked nothing like the pictures of soldiers Hermione had seen on the telly. Instead of camouflaged patterned and armored uniforms, the people around her were dressed in colorful robes and silly hats. None of them looked as if they were going to war.

Now it came down to waiting for Percy's signal to begin. She glanced at Ron and Harry. Ron's face was bright red, but his lips were pressed into a hard, flat line. Harry was still, his only movement the wand that kept appearing and disappearing into his hand. She was afraid to look at Severus, afraid that her fears would overcome her if she looked at him. But she could feel his solid presence at her back, steady and strong as the cold swirled around her magical senses. On impulse, she shifted her hand back and was both surprised and infinitely grateful when his callused fingers brushed her own.

Then Percy's Patronus was in the room. The Ministry wards were down.

"Go," Harry's voice was soft, but carried to everyone in the room.

In ones and twos, or small groups based on their assignments, the people she considered her friends and family vanished via illegal Portkeys and Disapparition until only Hermione and Severus remained.

They had to wait. She hated waiting. She turned to face him. "Severus?"

He didn't acknowledge the fear and love in her voice as he avoided her eyes. "Your friends are counting on you," was his answer instead. His voice was emotionless. To anyone else, he would have appeared his normal bastard self, but Hermione caught the fine tremble that swept across his frame every so often.

The love she felt tore at her insides knowing there was nothing she could do to stop this. So she did what she wanted. Grabbing two handfuls of that damnable coat, Hermione pulled a startled Severus down towards her, just enough to take his lips with hers. The kiss was brief and hard, but unmistakable in its meaning. And just in case he thought to play sneaky Slytherin guessing games with her motives, she whispered fiercely against his lips, "I love you."

As she pulled back, something very much like fear darted across his face. "Hermione—"

She shook her head fiercely. "No. I love you. Don't you dare die on me."

Before he could say anything else, he hissed, grabbing at his arm where the Dark Mark lay concealed beneath his coat. Voldemort was calling his Death Eaters. The link between them all was now open. Her heart pounding, Hermione wrapped her arms around him as Severus Disapparated them, following the call of the Dark Lord.

* * *

**Author's Note 4**: In case no one noticed, I'm a chatty author. I like Author notes. I can't help myself. So, here is one more post-chapter chat – this chapter gave me fits. Not only because so many things needed to be included, but because of the erotic nature of the chapter. There is a fine line between making a reader breathless and making them go "ewww." I hope that I stayed on the breathless side of the line.

And here's a story tidbit for you – the entire scene in question was original written from Hermione's viewpoint, but Severus kept hijacking it. I'd find myself slipping into his POV without realizing it only to then slide into Hermione's POV. It just wouldn't stay with one point of view. Finally, I gave up and let the chapter write itself the way it wanted to. I don't know if it is better or worse. Although, I have to say that as a woman, writing this from Severus POV was kind of weird.

We have one more chapter and then the epilogue. I know that many of you are as shocked as I am.

-C


	50. Chapter 47: Two (PG)

**Author's Note 1**: **HERE THERE BE DRAGONS**. This is the ere is a second chapter that is rated PG rated version. It is the exact same chapter as the M version, just a little less racy. Please read as befits your sensibilities.

**Author's Note 2**: After all build up, I'm rather nervous about being able to carry this off. Not just the smut, mind you, but the whole ending of the story.

**Author's Note 3:** Unbetaed. So yeah, there are going to be mistakes.

* * *

**Chapter 47: Two (PG)**

Pulling her hair back with a tie, Hermione contemplated her reflection before making a face and turning away from the mirror. It wasn't the most flattering look on her, due to her hair's frizz-touched, curly nature, but it kept it out of her face and semi-tamed. This afternoon was all about practicality. Breakfast in the Black house had been a quiet affair, but shortly after the house-elves cleared the remaining dishes, Order members had started arriving in ones and twos. No one would be leaving the house after this until it was time tomorrow evening to confront Voldemort.

Now, it was all about last minute strategies, calming frazzled nerves and soothing quick tempers. Truth be told, she was not looking forward to heading back downstairs. A part of her just wanted to hide away in her room, or better yet, hide away in Severus' room. She made another face. _Some Gryffindor, I am_. But, she couldn't help it. No matter what Severus said, Hermione had a bad feeling about the coming battle. She eyed her notebooks and the unrolled scroll she'd stuck to the wall with her own Matrix calculations. A very bad feeling, indeed. Resolutely turning away from the equations, she grabbed a quill and small empty scroll and headed downstairs. By the time she got to the hallway outside of the library, she could already hear the voices within rising and falling in obvious argument.

Shaking her head, she stepped into the room. Along the far wall, one of Vector's chalk boards had been set up. On it was drawn the outline of a large room marked 'Ballroom', with multiple smaller rooms and several hallways branching off from it. Little chalk stick people could be seen in strategic spots along the perimeter of the ballroom and access points. Ron was holding a piece of chalk, and the edge of his fist was white with powdered dust where he'd erased things multiple times.

It looked like there were several arguments going at once in the room. Kingsley Shacklebolt and Tonks were with Ron and Harry in front of the chalk board. The ever-argumentative Mills seemed to be quarreling with the twins, a useless endeavor if she'd ever heard of one. Colin Creevey was arguing with both Agnes and her brother. Agnes was wearing that secretive little smile that always made Hermione think Agnes was older than her years. Talon Worth's expression, while pained, had that edge of big brother indulgence that let Hermione know that particular argument wasn't serious.

Not particularly wanting to get involved in any of the various discussions, she sidled her way around the edge of the room until she came to Neville, who was sitting on the floor watching the room with undisguised interest. Back against the wall, she slid down next to him. "How's it going?" she asked quietly, indicating the room with a tilt of her chin.

Neville flashed a quick grin. "Colin asked Agnes if she'd be his girlfriend. She squealed and hugged him. Then she punched him for asking her right before they go off to fight." He gave her another grin. "I think they have a real future." With a jerk of his head he indicated a knot of people in the far corner. Parvati and Lavender seemed to be holding court with lots of whispering and the occasional high pitched giggle. "I don't even want to know what that lot are up to."

Hermione chuckled and nudged his shoulder. "I understand. Sometimes they make me a little nervous, too. What about them?" Hermione indicated Shacklebolt, Tonks, Ron and Harry.

Neville shook his head. "They've had quite the row. Shacklebolt wants to treat the whole thing as if it were an Auror exercise. Ron keeps reminding him that half of our forces are unknowns and probably rubbish in a direct fight. The people with the set assignments that Ron passed out at the Order meeting haven't changed, but Kingsley keeps trying to move the people that aren't assigned."

"The fighters."

"Yes. Oh, and you missed the Headmaster. He was here a few minutes ago. He was going on about Godric Gryffindor's sword and how he wanted Harry to carry it in battle as some kind of symbol."

"But the sword is in Hogwarts," she said, and then felt like an idiot as the answer came to her. "Professor Snape had one of the elves bring him the book. The Headmaster will do the same."

Beside her, Neville shrugged. "Not sure. But Harry wasn't happy. I suppose I can see the Headmaster's logic. Harry going into battle waving the sword of Gryffindor would be a rallying sight."

Hermione snorted in derision. "A rallying sight if you're a Gryffindor. I don't see it much inspiring the other Houses. It's certainly not going to do much for the Slytherins."

Neville shrugged again. "I suppose." He paused, then added, "Having a talisman can help sometimes."

Something in the way Neville said 'talisman' set off Hermione's suspicions, and she gave Neville a closer look. It wasn't until she got to the bookbag resting against his hip that her suspicion flared into something more like certainty. "Neville, open the bag."

Neville's eyes went wide. "Hermione—"

She glared at him. "Open!"

With a small grumble, Neville complied. Nestled down into the bottom of the bag was the doll of Severus that she'd given Neville so long ago. "I know what you're thinking."

Hermione cast incredulous eyes at a sheepish-faced Neville. "No, I don't think you do." Closing her eyes, her fingers rubbed at the bridge of her nose as she counted to five. When she reopened them, the bag was closed up and resting against Neville's side again.

"He's become my good luck charm."

"Good luck," she repeated in disbelief.

Neville ducked his head in embarrassment. "Yeah, like Muggles and Lucky Dogs' feet."

She had moment of confusion. "Dogs?" Then it hit her. "Rabbits' feet," she corrected automatically. "Lucky rabbits' feet, Neville."

Neville's voice turned thoughtful. "Are you sure? I'm almost positive Professor Burbage, said dogs in Muggle Studies second year."

"Yes, I'm sure, and don't try to change the subject," she snapped in exasperation.

That got her a small grin. "Doesn't really matter. Dogs. Rabbits . . . " He shrugged. "Could be Goblins' feet, I suppose. But Lil' Sev works for me. I'm about to go off and fight. I could die tomorrow. But you and Lil' Sev helped me face my biggest fear. Voldemort can only kill me. But Hermione, Snape . . . he could have failed me."

Hermione stared at her friend for a long minute before the laugh bubbled up, and then she dissolved into laughter, Neville right along with her. Their laughter, seemingly out of place in such a tense atmosphere, attracted the attention of everyone else in the room.

"Hermione!" Harry's voice was filled with relief when he called her name.

She raised a hand in Harry's direction and levered herself up to her feet. Her glare down at Neville was spoiled by the smile still plastered across her face. "Fine, keep him. But for God's sake, Neville, don't let anyone see him."

At Neville's nod of agreement, she headed towards Ron and Harry. "Is there a problem?"

"No," Shacklebolt answered.

"Yes," Ron and Harry chorused.

She raised her brows in question at Tonks, whose face had appearing and disappearing freckles blinking across her nose. _Probably in annoyance_, Hermione thought.

"Shacklebolt wants the younger ones to hang back."

"I keep telling you, we don't have enough people for that," Ron said. "The numbers just don't work. Not if we want coverage." He pointed to the diagram on the board. "I agree we put the youngest and worst fighters at guard points and the perimeter. But everyone else has to be disbursed through the room. It's not like we'll know where everyone is standing. Once Hermione and Snape trigger the spell, our people are going to have to hunt for them."

Shacklebolt didn't look convinced. "I thought," he said, addressing Hermione, "that this spell would knock anyone with a Dark Mark unconscious."

"It will," Hermione assured him. "But there are several unknowns. The spell can't be triggered until the Dark Lord calls his Death Easters. The professor wants us close to the source of the trigger, as well. We also haven't been able to determine how long the effects will last. It could be a minute or an hour. He's concerned about how the spell will spread between the Death Eaters. Does it spread equally, or does it cascade from one to another? If it's the latter, then the last Death Eater hit could be out only a few minutes, where the first could be out for days. The professor wasn't able to delve too far into the spell without potentially triggering the Dark Lord's awareness that we are examining the Mark. It's a risk."

"Don't forget, it's just the Death Eaters that are affected by the spell," Harry added. "They're Voldemort's elite, and they could do the most damage, but he has lots of people that are loyal that don't carry the Mark. When the fighting starts, those people will rally to his call. They're the ones we're going to be fighting – just ordinary witches and wizards that think his way is the right one."

The argument continued from there, going over information that had long since been exhausted. Hermione's own attention soon wandered. Strategy was not her strong suit, and she suspected that this continuing argument was more to give the participants something to focus on instead of worrying about the upcoming fight. It was all interrupted, though, when Dumbledore arrived a few moments later with the Sword of Gryffindor. The room went silent as everyone eyed the Headmaster and his burden.

With what Hermione now recognized as a bit of theatrical flourish, Dumbledore presented the sword to Harry as everyone in the room watched. She had to wonder, though, if she was the only one to realize how reluctant Harry was to take the blade.

"Sir."

"Take the sword, Harry."

Harry's voice dropped low so only those standing close would hear. "It's not the right way."

Dumbledore favored Harry with one of the same looks that Hermione had seen him give Severus on multiple occasions. It was an expression that said you are being difficult, but I know better, and eventually you'll do things my way.

Hermione shook her head when Harry, like Severus, eventually gave in to the Headmaster's insistence. Watching the transaction, she had to wonder when she'd become so cynical, and then couldn't decide if Severus had been a good influence or bad on that particular trait.

As Harry accepted the blade, Dumbledore was all smiles and goodwill. "Excellent, Harry. I understand you don't want to use the blade, my boy. I do understand. But I believe seeing you with the Sword will bring a sense of courage to the group."

Harry made a face that might be interpreted as a smile. "Of course, sir."

Dumbledore patted Harry on the shoulder. "Good." With that final acknowledgement, Dumbledore headed towards the other groups within the room, giving out his own brand of an encouraging pep talk.

Harry swung the blade up. "What am I going to do with this thing? I can't carry it. It goes against the whole plan."

Shacklebolt shrugged. "Wear it sheathed. What difference does it make?"

"Because—" Harry stopped, his eyes on Neville across the room.

"Harry?" They could all hear Ron's – _What are you thinking?_ – in the question.

"Hey, Neville, can you come here a minute?"

Gathering up his bag, Neville headed towards them with a smile. "I thought you didn't want to carry the Sword?" he asked, as he got closer to the small knot of people.

"I'm not going to."

Neville let out a tiny snicker. "I don't know, Harry. You could look good with it strapped to your side. Maybe they can write a ballad about you and the sword after it is all over."

Harry glared at Neville, especially when Ron snickered too. But the glare quickly faded into a wide grin. "I'm not carrying the sword. You are."

Neville's laughter stopped as he looked in sudden panic at the group surrounding him. "Oh, no, no, no," he stammered. "I can't carry that thing."

Harry had an almost evil glint in his eye. "Oh, yes, yes, yes." His grin widened. "It even makes sense. You were the other person that the prophecy could have applied to. So if I'm not going to carry it, you are," Harry said, thrusting the hilt in Neville's direction.

"But the Headmaster—"

"Has been telling me that I need to be the one to defeat Voldemort," Harry interrupted. "And I'm telling you, that you need to be the one to carry the sword."

Neville shook his head, but reached out with obvious reluctance to take the blade as if it was a poisonous serpent. "I'd just like to say that this is a bad idea."

Harry clapped Neville on the shoulder with exaggerated enthusiasm. "Don't worry, I specialize in bad ideas. Welcome to being Harry Potter."

The meeting degenerated from there into drills, although she felt they were less than helpful as everyone's anxiety levels increased. Hermione could feel the tension herself: a ball of hot, churning fear that never seemed to leave the pit of her stomach. By the time lunch was announced, Hermione's emotions were strung tight.

"So, Hermione?"

Hermione winced. She knew that tone. Pasting on a smile, she gave a quick nod to her former roommates. "Lavender. Parvati." Then she turned back so that she was focused on Denis Creevey, her sparring partner.

Her two former roommates weren't dissuaded though, as with a quick sliding step, Lavender planted herself in front of Hermione while Parvati linked her arm around Hermione's wand arm. Hermione shot a pleading look to Denis but the little traitor took one look and scampered off towards the other side of the room.

"I should have known that if anyone was going to attract our little Hermione's attention it would be a teacher."

Hermione groaned. "Lavender, don't go there."

Lavender preened a little bit and winked at Parvati before turning her attention back to Hermione. "So it's true." Dropping her voice she affected a hurt expression. "I, crushed, Hermione. Absolutely crushed. We've been your roommates for seven years and we have to find out this news from Adrian Puce. Puce, Hermione! A Slytherin." She let out a theatrical sigh. "It was just embarrassing."

She eyed her roommates. "You two aren't going to let this go, are you?"

Parvati effectively ignored her question while steering her towards the door. "Why don't you tell us all about it while we go to lunch?"

Feeling like she was heading for the gallows, Hermione let herself be herded along, all the while adamantly refusing to discuss the topic at hand.

* * *

Arrosa Alverez had been a Healer for a long time. She'd known it was her path even before she'd entered Hogwarts all those long years ago. Being a Healer was one of the hardest professions within the wizarding world, something that many lay wizards didn't always realize or appreciate. Being a Healer wasn't just about waving your wand and muttering the correct spell, although she was more than willing to admit that there was a good deal of that as well. Being a Healer also meant being a student of wizarding nature. Sometimes, it was just as important to understand WHY someone cast a spell as it was to understand the spell itself.

She also had a long history with the Weasley family. As the Healer-in-Charge of the Spell Damage Ward, she'd probably had as much contact with the children of the wizarding world as the teachers at Hogwarts did. Sooner or later, she saw them all. The Weasley brood had been particularly steady customers over the years. The eldest, Bill, hadn't been too bad, but she'd seen a lot of Charlie, with his daredevil and fearless nature. In fact, it was around the time of Charlie that she'd taken over the care of the Weasleys personally, rather than give them to one of her staff Healers. The interesting cases, or in this case interesting family, kept a Healer on his or her toes, after all.

When Percy Weasley came along, she'd expected another typical Weasley, but the boy had been a completely different child from the previous two. She'd never actually treated him for any real spell injury until the twins had come along, and Percy had become, willingly or not, their main target and guinea pig. The twins, of course, had been another matter entirely. In fact, considering some of the spells, cantrips and potion accidents that had come through her ward from those two, she'd more than once considered naming a floor after them, or possibly a Healer apprenticeship.

But now, in a strange twist, she was on the search for Percy, every Healer instinct pushing her to find the boy. Seeing Percy enter the meeting the night before, she'd thought the boy had been sick – he had the look of someone coming off a heavy case of Goblin Fever. But she'd been unable to get to him before the meeting had ended, and he'd slipped away into the chaos of the house. But Arrosa was nothing if not persistent. She'd arrived at the Black house early and begun to search, room by room. She found him in a grimy, little room filled with discarded cases and boxes. He was perched on an old travel trunk, his arms wrapped around his middle, his pose one of abject misery.

"Percy?"

Her worry increased when Percy didn't move, his answer spoken down to the floor. "I'm not ill. Please leave."

His quick response surprised her. But then, he'd always been an intelligent child, perceptive in his way. Pulling out her best brusque bedside manner, she barged into the room, snapping, "Who's the Healer, here? You let me be the judge of that."

Percy still avoided her gaze, but he shook his head. "Fine. Wave your wand. You won't find anything." Even that response worried her. Percy was always the one who argued, who offered up his opinion on whatever the subject was. To just sit there, wasn't like the boy.

Frowning, she pulled her wand and triggered a diagnostic spell, surprised to find that Percy wasn't far off the mark. Her diagnostics showed no illness, at least not physically. She did detect unusual readings, however, along some of his magical pathways, though that spoke of emotional trauma. But that wasn't unusual. She hadn't heard the particulars, but from what she'd gathered, Percy had been finally told the truth about Voldemort and the Ministry involvement. It was bound to be causing emotional upheavals. She couldn't heal this, though. It was something he would have to work out for himself.

As she pocketed her wand, she reached out to squeeze his arm. "It's hard to see cherished ideas destroyed, Percy. It will get better."

"Cherished ideas," he mocked softly, his voice filled with bitterness. "I can't even say I didn't know." He spoke down to his hands, avoiding her gaze. "My family tried to tell me. Potter tried to tell me. It was all there. I just didn't want to see it, to believe it."

Arrosa stayed quiet, but then this was often the way. A patient would say they didn't want to talk, and then suddenly it would all come spilling out.

Percy shook his head again, his eyes screwed up as if he was in pain. "It's more than that, you know." He let out a strangled sort of laugh. "I never fitted in with my family. I always knew it. They knew it, too." He finally looked up at her. "I've never told anyone . . . but when I was sorted, the Hat told me that I would do well in Slytherin with my ambition."

Arrosa considered what she knew of Percy. "I agree. You could have made some invaluable contacts if the Ministry was your ultimate goal."

"It was. It always was. Entering the Ministry, working myself up through the ranks . . ." He grimaced. "I had this naïve dream of bringing order to chaos. But when the Hat said 'Slytherin', I panicked. All I could see was my family's reaction if I was accepted into that House." He gave a strangled laugh. "Can you imagine that? A Weasley in Slytherin." He laughed again, softer this time. "The Hat told me it would take great courage and determination if I were to go it alone with my ambitions. That I would, of necessity, stand alone. Then it said that if I was willing to do that, I would need the courage of a Gryffindor."

Arrosa was beginning to see the picture. "When all the talk began of You-Know-Who's return—"

Percy nodded. "I thought that was my courage moment – my time to stand alone in defense of my ambitions and loyalty to the Ministry."

"Oh, Percy." It was like she hadn't spoken, though, as the words within Percy continued to spill forth – words and thoughts he'd never dared tell anyone before.

"My mum's dead. Snape's memories . . . I saw . . . "

"What? What do you mean 'memories'? They put you into a Pensieve of Snape's memories?"

Percy gave a nod, seemingly unaware of her own growing anger. _Snape's memories. Oh merciful, Merlin. If even half of what she suspected about Severus was true, the trauma of those memories on someone like Percy would be devastating. _

Percy shook his head again. A gesture she was beginning to pay more attention to, as if he was trying to shake loose the images in his head.

"But that wasn't all I saw . . . the things he's done and seen." Percy dropped his head, the heels of his hands pressing hard into his temples. "I can't seem to stop it – the memories, all the screams and the smells." His complexion went momentarily pasty, and he swallowed hard. "The smells are the worst," he said quietly.

Reaching out, she squeezed his shoulder. "Percy, Snape's memories . . . I wish I'd been here." She was going to kill Albus Dumbledore. "They should have found a better way. Do you want me to apply an Obliviate?"

Percy's head snapped up. "Yes. But no," he added, as she reached for her wand again. "They were right to use the memories. I don't know if I would have listened without seeing . . . everything. But after the battle. After it's over. Could you?"

"Percy, boy, if you are carrying around those memories because you think you need to punish yourself—"

"No. Not punishment." He gave her a wan smile. "Call it motivation. If I forget . . . if I don't really understand who and what Mr Rowle and Mr Dollort are . . . " He shook his head. "I need to know."

She studied him. He still looked pale, and she doubted he was sleeping. Making a quick decision, she gave him a hard look. "Very well, but you come find me this evening. I'll give you a vial of Dreamless Sleep."

Relief flashed across Percy's face. "I'll do that. Thank you. Can you go away, now?"

Her lips thinned into a hard line, but her words were gentle. "Okay, Percy. But if you need anything, you come find me. You understand?"

At his nod, she left. She was reluctant to leave him, but she was also determined to find one self-styled war general. She and Albus were going to have words.

* * *

As the group approached the dining room, the voices of those already there carried clearly into the hallway. "Of course, I don't trust Snape!"

"You agreed to the plan, Alastor," Hermione heard Professor McGonagall say. "Albus trusts Severus, and this whole plan rests on him."

"I agreed to it, aye. Like it? No, I don't like it. It's the perfect plan to capture every last one of us."

"Quit being such an arse, Moody."

Hermione shook off Lavender's arm as she heard Moody respond.

"It's called constant vigilance, Minerva. Something you lot ought to practice a little more." Moody's voice took on a sly mocking tone. "Or haven't you noticed that Snape is conveniently out of the line of fire with this here plan? Along with that little miss of his he's taken such a liking to."

Hermione sucked in an outraged breath at the ex-Auror's words. She cared less about his insinuations about her character than she did about the insinuation he was making about Severus. _How dare he?_ After everything Severus had done for these people, he still found no respect from them.

"Hermione, don't—"

She heard the words from somewhere beside her, but ignored them, focused instead on the room as she stepped inside. "I've had enough!"

"Miss Granger—"

Hermione stepped past McGonagall, disregarding her as she headed toward Moody and the knot of older volunteers and what was left of the original Order. "You're a paranoid old man, hateful, mean, and unable to see the truth when it's in front of you, even with that magical eye of yours."

The eye in question swung around to her as Moody glared. "The coward's obviously corrupted you, girl. Along with whatever else he's done to you."

"Oh, balls." She thought the voice was Ron's, although it could have been Harry's. She couldn't be sure over the roaring in her ears and the growl escaping from behind her clenched teeth. "Coward? You know nothing about him," she spat.

She took another step forward, sweeping her gaze contemptuously over the group gathered around Moody. "He isn't hiding from the fight. And he isn't hiding from Voldemort." She bared her teeth at the group when they collectively flinched at Riddle's pseudonym. "Do you know anything about this spell we're doing tomorrow night?" Her voice dropped into a mocking sneer. "Or have you all been too busy worrying about _constant vigilance_ to understand it? Have you asked Professor Vector what it means? Or spoken to Professor Flitwick?"

When no one answered, she huffed out a laugh. "No? How about I tell you? Severus Snape is going into this fight and won't even be able to use his wand. He's going to lie down, and I'm going to channel enough spell energy through him to tap into all the other Death Eaters."

Moody snarled at her, his scarred visage making the expression even uglier. "As I said, the coward sits on the sidelines while the rest of us take the fight to You-Know-Who."

Hermione heard something crackle like electricity, but ignored it, as her anger ignited. "He's not a coward!" Without a thought, she flung up a hand, fingers clawing at Moody, as dozens of flickering blue sparks swarmed around him. "You sanctimonious troll. Have you listened to anything Professor Vector's said? Have you looked at the Matrix? Everything! Everything says that he's going to die on those sidelines of yours. I'm going to send so much spell energy through him that HE DIES!"

The last part came out as a scream, her fear pouring into the words. Everyone else in the room was silent, either from her words or from the sight of Moody hanging three feet in the air and surrounded by a halo of angry sparks.

"I see we are going to have to get you lessons in wandless magic." The words fell into the silence, crisp and clear. "You might also want to put Moody down."

Hermione flushed hot and then cold as she realized what she'd just done. Her anger gone, she whirled around, heedlessly dropped Moody behind her where he hit the floor with a _thump_. "Severus." _Oh, God. She'd just told everyone the thing he'd wanted kept quiet. _"I'm sorry. I didn't—"

He waved a hand, ignoring her and the crowd of people watching in avid fascination as he leaned slightly to the right to peer around her towards Moody who was being helped up from the floor by two of Order members. "Remarkable. Lunch was never this entertaining at the castle."

Then, ignoring everyone, he proceeded to sit down, his face showing nothing of his emotions.

Hermione fought back tears, her gaze finding Ron's. He gave her a half-smile. With a tilt of his head, he indicated the table. With a shuddering breath, Hermione raised her chin and took her own seat. She'd already made a spectacle of herself and Snape; she wouldn't make another.

She was ever so grateful as Ron and Harry both took their seats next to her. The rest of the room soon followed, but lunch was a silent affair. Moody never sat down.

* * *

Albus slipped into the room with little of his usual fanfare. He was tired and entirely too old for all of this. He'd fought for this day for so long. He'd be glad to finally lay down the fight. But it wasn't time just yet. There were still things that had to be done and plans that had to be set in motion.

Closing the door behind him, he found Miranda as he expected to: staring at the slowly turning image of the Matrix with a weary slump in her shoulders. "Has there been any change?"

She didn't turn around. "No." The one word was full of angry frustration.

"Miss Granger—" He stopped as a piece of chalk was flung against the side wall to burst into a white cloud of dust.

Miranda finally turned around. "It isn't her," then tempered her explosion with a calmer, "Well, it is her. Severus can talk all he wants about possibilities and probabilities and whatever, but I've lived with this matrix for almost seventeen years, Albus, and I . . . I . . . Damn it, Albus, I've just got to know the man after all these years. And now . . . "

"There have been others lost."

"You say that so easily," she responded, bitterness lacing her voice. "We'll likely lose more tomorrow, but Severus feels . . . personal. Like I failed him, somehow."

"It's not your fault."

She let out a heavy sigh. "Isn't it? Isn't it ultimately mine and yours? You and I have steered this thing since the night you rescued Mr Potter. What if I missed some variable? What if I didn't see something important? The shifting matrix this past year, it was all about Granger. What if I'd known sooner? There have been so many lost, Albus. I don't want more."

"You've done what I have asked you, my dear. Your job has always been to keep Harry alive to defeat Tom. You've done that, as cold-blooded and cold-hearted as the process has seemed at times. But as you keep telling me, even the best Arthimancer cannot tell the future. Ultimately, all of us are expendable to the cause."

Miranda snarled silently, her lips pulled back to expose her teeth. "I don't have to like it."

Albus chuckled quietly. "I should hope not, my dear. But the guilt is not yours to bear."

Trouble eyes met his. "Is it yours?"

"Most assuredly." He gave her a wry smile. "If you double me, just ask Healer Alverez."

She let out a ghost of a laugh. "She doesn't like you."

His smile widened. "Arrosa likes me just fine. We simply have different views on what is needed."

"Is that what you call all the yelling from earlier?"

"Arrosa is a healer. She knew it was her life's path from a very young age. What I have done does not . . . sit well with her." He combed his fingers through is beard in a soothing motion. "We have talked-"

"Yelled."

"We have _talked_. She doesn't like the necessity, but she understands the cause."

"Like Severus?"

His expression shifted, sadness and regret darkening his gaze. "Severus has always understood better than any."

"Has it been worth it?" There was pleading there that Albus wasn't used to hearing from his Arthimancer.

"Yes, my dear. For all the wrong steps, and for all the mistakes, yes, it was worth it. I cannot doubt that, nor should you. Tom cannot be allowed to rise to power. Neither we, nor ultimately the Muggle World, could survive that."

Miranda squared her shoulders, though she still looked unhappy. With a wave of her hand, the matrix winked out of existence and all the blackboards were wiped clean. "If you will excuse me, Albus, I've got some things to do before tomorrow night."

Albus watched her go with a heavy heart. He'd done a lot of damage over the years, but even now, he wasn't sure he would do anything differently. But, he could have these moments now with those who had been loyal to him. He'd already spoken with Minerva. He'd done what he could to sooth Vector's troubled conscience. He'd speak with young Harry tomorrow. Now, though it was time to track down Severus.

* * *

When the library door opened, Severus expected to see Hermione. He'd deliberately sought out the library this evening to ensure that he was alone. Sure that after the debacle at lunch, Hermione would seek him out to apologize or explain or something. He supposed he ought to be furious with her, but he found it was so very hard to stay angry when she turned all that Gryffindor ferocity to his protection, even if he considered it misguided. For all the embarrassment she'd caused him, her defense soothed raw places in his soul that he was just now realizing still existed after all these years. Now he found himself rather disappointed to be faced with Albus instead of Hermione.

"Albus?"

"Good evening, Severus. How are you doing? I trust there are no ill effects from this afternoon's . . . .excitement?"

Severus huffed out a breath. "If you mean have I disparaged Hermione's character and turned her baffling affections from me, then no. If you are asking if I murdered any of the Order members, then again, the answer is no. If you are inquiring if I had a discussion with Flitwick about procuring Hermione some wandless magic instruction before she burns the house down around our ears, the answer is yes."

Albus chuckled. "Good, good."

When Albus continued to stand there, he finally asked, "Was there anything else?"

For a brief moment, Severus thought Albus looked almost uncomfortable before the other man finally spoke. "Severus, I need you to do something for me."

"Of course, Albus." The words were rote. This was familiar – the Headmaster asking for something and Severus doing what he could to accommodate. It was something that Severus understood.

Albus smiled at him then, full of a fond patience that made Severus want to hex the other man. "One more favor, Severus. The last one, I promise. The last in a long line, I grant you." Albus stroked his beard, his fingers tangling in the strands as he gazed off into a distance Severus couldn't see.

This unexpectedly pensive Albus made him wary, but his own impatience drove him to ask his next question when the Headmaster failed to continue. "What do you need, Albus?"

The faraway stare returned to him, but the gaze was still thoughtful. "I've abused you greatly over the years, haven't I? Asking more of you than any had a right to."

This was not anything that he'd expected and he didn't know how to respond, as Albus continued. "I can't say I'm sorry for that, though. I've done what was needed, and I needed you. I can be sorry, though, for what it's cost you."

Severus finally found the words. "What it has cost me? Do you even know?" Severus moved to the other side of the room, his body suddenly filled with a restless agitation. "Merlin bless, Albus, I am not even sure I know what the full cost upon me has been."

Albus nodded, still serene and unperturbed at his pacing. "And so my last request of you."

Weariness flashed through him , thean as he dropped his head, his body stilling. "What would you have of me now?"

"I want you to live."

His head jerked back up. "What?"

"I want you to live. Live in defiance of what I and Tom have done to you. Live despite prophecy or Matrix." Albus chuckled then. "Live to spite me, my boy," he added with obvious relish.

He stood still, too shocked to say anything as Albus gave him one of those thrice-damned twinkling smiles that made you think everything was going to be okay. "I have cared for you, you know. Please do not ever doubt that."

Then as Severus continued to stare in stunned shock, Albus left, the door clicking softly behind him.

* * *

Hermione stood nervously in the narrow hallway, staring at Severus' door. She'd seen him head to the library earlier, fleeing before the curious and prying eyes of the Order members, his expression distant and closed off. She knew that look, so she'd left him alone rather than try to apologize again, and had gone back to working with Harry, Ron and the others while doing her own share of ignoring of whispers. Head held high, she'd done her best, but her thoughts always circled back to the man upstairs. _Great and merciful Merlin, she'd made a complete cock up of everything_. But she could only put off speaking to him for so long. She'd even shamelessly taken advantage of the elves ability to know everything going on around the house and had them tell her when Severus moved from the study to his room.

Now, she found herself here outside his bedroom door with a pounding heart and sweaty palms. She'd had this all planned out. Then she'd ruined everything with her little show earlier, and now, she had no idea how he'd respond to her, much less how he'd respond to her other request. And really, she was getting tired of having to face a grumpy Severus. She couldn't wait for the day he had to face a grumpy Hermione. Buoyed by that amusing thought, she screwed up her courage and rapped softly on the door. A moment later, it swung open to reveal Hermione's favorite Severus – white-shirted and casual, or as her mind insisted on calling him – the unbuttoned Severus.

The scowl on his face smoothed away into something more welcoming, if a bit wary, when he recognized her. "Hermione?"

"May I come in?" The words were out quickly before she lost her nerve.

His brows rose in surprise. "I—"

She didn't miss how his eyes did a quick scan down the empty hallway. "Please?"

He studied her for a long moment before finally giving a slight nod of his head. Stepping back, he held open the door. As she walked into the room, she let out a small sigh of relief. First hurdle down.

The room was much as she had left it the previous summer, still dingy looking and sparse. His only furniture was a narrow bed, a chest of drawers and a small writing desk. She was amused to see that Severus had left the chair and curtains that she had added during his convalescence during the summer. It warmed a place inside her to know that even when they weren't speaking to each other, he'd kept a little bit of _her_ with him.

"It is late. Is there a problem?" She indulged a small bit of wonder that words that would have sent her scurrying a year ago, now just sounded tired to her.

She shook her head. One of his brows rose, and she could tell she'd reached the end of his limited patience. When dealing with Severus, it was always best to just say what she was thinking. Otherwise, he started adding nuances and interpretations of his own. Knotting her fingers together so she wouldn't fidget, Hermione boldly met his eyes. "I wanted to apologize for this afternoon. I know-"

He cut her off with an exasperated sigh. "Part of me wishes to be annoyed with you."

"And the other parts?"

"Realize that you would not be you if you were different, and that I must resign myself to having my dignity accosted on all fronts from now on."

Hermione hid a smile behind her hand and wondered how she'd ever considered him humorless.

"Was that all?"

"No. There was something else."

Again, his eyebrow went up. This time she didn't hide her smile. "I've also come to seduce you." If she wasn't so nervous, she would have laughed at his expression of alarm and how quickly he stepped back from her.

"Granger!"

She did laugh then, a soft chuckle that did nothing to lessen the look on his face. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shock you. It's just . . . This afternoon, and tomorrow and . . . and . . ." She gave him a self-conscious and embarrassed shrug. "I've found a new appreciation for romance novel clichés."

"Romance novels . . . " He trailed off in momentary disbelief. "You do not know what you are saying."

He hadn't thrown her out yet. Taking it as a small victory, she continued in a rush of words. "Everything is coming together, and at the same time, it feels as if it's all falling apart."

"Hermione—"

She knew that tone – exasperation mixed with patience and dismissal. "No," she interrupted before he could try to allay her fears or talk her out of this. "I'm afraid. Afraid of the battle that is coming. Afraid for my friends who could die in that fight. And I'm afraid—" The words choked her, and she had to stop and take a breath before continuing. "I'm terrified I'm going to lose you. And I know what you've said about probabilities and possibilities, and it doesn't make me any less scared. I don't want to lose you before I've figured out what it means to have you in all your complicated, snarky glory."

By the time all the words had gushed forth, she was panting. Her entire body struggling to draw in the air she needed.

They stood staring at each other, a frozen tableau, neither knowing what else to say or what the next move should be. Then she saw his expression change. It was only a small shift, but she'd grown adept at reading what most considered an expressionless mask. A slight narrowing of his eyes and a quick inhale of breath, and she knew she'd lost. "You're turning me away. Why, Severus?"

For a moment his expression looked pained, and then it was gone. "It is not a rejection. I do not want this to be about fear or become some impulsive encounter you'll regret."

"I'm not going to—" She shook her head. "Nevermind," she said with a sigh. Arguing with him now would do her no good, for all that she wanted to rail at him for being a complete, stubborn fool. Gathering her somewhat tattered dignity, she turned around. At the door, she paused. "If you change your mind, you know where I'll be."

She thought she might cry, but no tears came. Instead, more satisfying words flowed forth as she headed down the stairs.

"Stupid."

"Imbecile."

"Pig Fucker."

"Cantankerous goat of all motherless goats."

"Bastard."

The litany followed her down the stairs, and she hoped with each individual step that he heard every word.

* * *

Severus sat on the end of his narrow bed, his elbows propped up on his knees and his fingers steepled against his lips. He was barely moving, the small rise and fall of his chest and the slow blinking of his eyes, as he stared off into a non-existent distance, the only indication that he hadn't been hit with an Immobilation spell. His physical stillness was in direct contrast to the wild gyrations of his thoughts and emotions.

He rather missed the days when the only disturbance to his emotional calm was a run-in with Potter, or a summons to the Dark Lord. Those days seemed so _easy_ now. He couldn't believe her audacity. No, that wasn't right. He could believe it. Her actions were exactly what he would expect of . . . he started to think _Gryffindor. _ That wasn't right. Simply labeling her by her House merely touched on the surface. She was so much more than just 'Gryffindor'. Hermione was bold and at times, pushy. She felt her emotions strongly and wasn't shy about those feelings.

_Isn't that one of the reasons you are attracted to her?_

Hermione was a healthy young woman in the prime of her life, facing what could be a life and death situation. It wasn't as if he'd never contemplated . . . never imagined what it would be like to dig his thumbs into soft flesh behind her knees or what it would feel like to be held within the cradle of her thighs. Yet, even as he'd had those thoughts, he'd castigated himself for having them.

_I am an idiot_.

She'd come to him, bold in her wants and desires, and he'd turned her away. He'd chided her about her fears, but was he letting his own fears control him? So many fears and a lifetime of caution. But, could he reach out and take what he wanted? Wasn't that his biggest fear – to potentially lay down his life when he had nothing to lose was one thing. To lay down that life after having a taste of everything the future could be . . . could he do that? Could he be that unselfish? That strong? That unafraid?

The answer was, he didn't know.

* * *

Hermione wasn't completely asleep when the door to her room opened, but hovering in that in-between place between consciousness and dreams.

"Severus?" She blinked at the apparition in front of her.

Moonlight dimly lit the room, and for a moment, she wasn't sure what she was seeing. Severus stood just inside her doorway, still unbuttoned, his hair ruffled as if he'd been running his fingers through it. Most amazingly of all, Hermione could see the long, elegant lines of his feet sticking beyond the edge of his trouser legs. She had a flash of memory to a long ago night when she'd appeared to him. He'd asked her, 'Are you real?' She understood the question now and turned it back on him. "Are you a dream?"

He shuffled his feet slightly, his expression one of what she only describe as nervousness, a look that was so at odds with the Severus she knew. "I—" He stopped.

Hermione held her breath. She was wide awake now as she watched him.

Severus moved towards the bed, a fluid grace to his steps that forced the air from her lungs. "This is what you want? I am truly your choice?" The timber of his voice was low, sliding across her skin and leaving shivers in its wake.

"Yes."

"It is foolishness."

Some of her tension fell away. _How could she not love this man?_ "Probably," she agreed. "But I may die tomorrow. You may die tomorrow."

He didn't come any closer, and Hermione realized she was going to have to come to him, to take that first step before meeting him in the middle. But then, she thought, maybe that's what he was counting on. To let her push them to the next level, into taking that forward step when he was unable to do so, be it because of fear or a life lived cautiously for far too long.

She slid out of the bed. He shifted on his feet as she brushed past him to lock the door, the sound of the metal key turning in the lock loud in the room. She returned to stand in front of him, bare toes to bare toes. The sight caused her to grin in amusement.

He surprised her by reaching out and pulling her to him, nestling her against the hard plane of his body. He was such a contradiction – push, pull, want, don't want. "You confuse me to my wits' end," she murmured against his shirt.

He let out a soft chuckle. "We are well matched, then, as you confound me at every turn. But more than that, you terrify me."

Brushing her cheek against his chest, she felt his heartbeat thumping hard in his chest, its wild rhythm so at odds with his seemingly distanced and calm exterior. Turning her head slightly, she brushed her lips across the bare sliver of skin showing at his collar and felt his fingers bite into her shoulders before sliding down her arms.

Daring greatly, she reached up and undid the top button on his shirt. "I don't mean to terrify you."

"I am aware of that. It does not make it any less true."

He watched her with concentrated focus as she slipped the next button free, but he said nothing. She shivered under the heated regard. "Don't let it get out that the most feared teacher in Hogwarts' history is afraid of me. It would devastate your reputation."

"Impudence."

The word was said with all the heated disdain of Professor Snape at his most acidic, but it was in direct contrast to the warm press of his hands as they skimming along her body.

She leaned back from him slightly so she could see him. "It's a terrible character flaw. Along with bossiness, the ability to embarrass you, and a tendency to leap before looking."

His expression was severe, but she caught the laughter in his eyes. "You forgot stubborn."

Going up on her toes, she brushed her lips against his in reward for playing along with her silliness. "That's not a flaw," she murmured.

"No," he agreed, when she pulled back. "I suppose when dealing with me, stubborn is probably a virtue." His voice had dropped to a deep rumble, the words raspy as they flowed over her. "I was not rejecting you."

"I know."

"We also need to discuss your deplorable language skills." He cocked a brow at her. Deliberately this time she was sure. "Motherless goat of all motherless goats?"

She huffed out a laugh. "My grandmother's favorite thing to call my grandfather." She undid the last button and watched as the shirt parted. She trailed a finger along the pale exposed skin, ruffling the fine dark hairs that swirled across his pectoral muscles. "Teach me to curse later."

He sucked in a breath as she flattened her hand against his skin. "Very well."

"Severus." She didn't know how to say what she wanted, to make him understand that she'd gone just about to the limits that Gryffindor courage was going to take her at this moment, but he seemed to understand, as one large hand fisted into the back of her nightgown, drawing the fabric up.

From his expression, she expected fierce. Something more along the lines of the toe-curling kisses they'd already shared, the ones that left her breathless and half-dazed. She was surprised when the first brush of his lips against hers was soft. She returned the gentle pressure and was rewarded with a second kiss, this one a little firmer, but still astounding in its gentleness. It melted Hermione down to her toes. Any hesitation or fear she'd had about taking this step melted away.

He must have felt the smile that curved her lips. "Why are you grinning?" he asked, pulling away just far enough to look down on her.

Her grin widened. "Because you're never what people expect you to be."

One brow rose up in question. She kissed him again. "It's a good thing," she clarified.

He seemed to accept that as the hand grasping her nightdress shifted, pulling the material up further on her back. The hand that had been loosely holding her hip now flowed up her spine. Feeling the warm skin of his hand slide up her back caused her to gasp and arch into the sensation.

"Hmm, sensitive."

She sucked in another ragged breath as that hand pressed her against the long length of him, the exposed skin of his chest hot through the thin fabric of her nightgown. His lips moved down to that soft spot below her left ear, before he continued, his breath hot against her skin. "But then, I've noticed you seem to have a . . . particular fascination with my hands."

Hermione's knees buckled.

The hand that had still been splayed across his chest slid up to clasp his shoulder as she sought to hold herself steady. The other wound behind his neck to tangle in his hair, as Severus used his most dangerous weapon – his voice and his words – in a way Hermione had never dreamed of.

"Just imagine what my hands can do to you," that insistent voice rumbled, as the hand in question smoothed up her spine, gathering more of her nightgown with it. She couldn't help the shiver that rocked her body. His hands weren't smooth or soft, but battle-scared and calloused. She could feel every rough spot as they moved across her skin but they were also sure and knowledgeable and she'd had more than one fantasy about them.

"Severus." His name was a quiet gasp.

A deep rumble of laughter and Hermione realized that her eyes had fallen closed. Forcing them open, she found Severus staring at her, lips quirked in a lazy smile, his eyes so dark she felt she could fall into them.

Rising up on her toes, she pressed her lips up under his chin, kissing along the open collar of his shirt. He groaned softly, his other hand sliding up her spine to join the first in a trail of fire.

_Words_, her scattered wits insisted, give him the words. She was Hermione Granger. She could do words. She was good with words. _If only his fingertips would stop_, she thought, then dismissed the idea. She definitely didn't want those hands and fingers to stop.

_Words_, her brain insisted again.

Nuzzling beneath the open collar, Hermione licked a path across his collarbone. "Strong, capable hands," she agreed, pleased at finding the words she wanted through the haze of her tumbling thoughts. "I love watching you work. I can imagine . . ." she trailed off, not quite as bold in reality as the Hermione in her head.

One hand left her back to tilt her head back. He kissed her then, hard, his mouth pressing hers to open. She groaned against him in appreciation, her tongue tangling hotly with his.

All too soon he was pulling back again, even as she made a small noise of protest. "When you are ready, we will have to compare your imagination with my own."

A dizzying heat swept over her, completely erasing her next words as her – very active – imagination conjured all sorts of things she'd heard and read over the years. She blamed her swirling thoughts on missing the movements of his hands, right up until they swept her nightgown up and over her head.

Panic and something like embarrassment chased away her beguiling thoughts, as instinct urged her to cover herself from the gaze that swept over her form, a dozen insecurities and fears clamoring for her sudden attention.

"I—"

He caught her wrists and pulled her close as he stepped into her and she forgot about panic and embarrassment and pretty much everything else as he sent her senses reeling.

Bare skin against bare skin and mind numbing kisses and Hermione could think of nothing else. It was during a small lull, as they both caught their breaths, that she blurted, "I don't know what I'm doing." The words were uncomfortable, making her flush with embarrassment. The last thing she wanted to do was highlight again the age and experience differences between them, but she felt she had to be honest.

He paused. "I had . . . assumed that to be the case." One of his fingers brushed along the tops of her breasts, before meandering its way down. "I will endeavor to make the experience as pleasurable as possible."

She arched up, unable to do anything but push up into that tantalizing touch. Hermione let out a pleased, if still somewhat nervous laugh. Leave it to Severus to sound so formal at a time like this." Stretching upward, she gave him several lingering kisses as his clever fingers played along her body. "I never doubted that." She kissed him again. "You've never been a man to do anything in half-measures."

* * *

Severus had fucked any number of women over the years. When Lily had married James Potter, he'd drowned his anger and hurt in the most base ways possible, in some of the darkest corners of Knockturn Alley. His friends, those that would eventually become his fellow Death Eaters, had been only too eager to indulge and urge him on.

Eventually, he'd grown tired of the emotionless encounters as they'd done nothing to fill the aching hole that Lilly had left within him. After a while, his encounters had simply become routine. When his body demanded release, he'd sought it out. It was passionless and cold, but ultimately efficient and discreet enough that he did not need to worry about compromising his position with the Death Eaters or as a teacher at Hogwarts. It was his very history that now gave him pause. Used them. Fucked them. Bought and paid for their time. He'd never made love to any of them. Never had any of them make love to him.

He felt unaccountably nervous as Hermione stared up at him with trusting and loving eyes.

Trailing his fingertips along her skin he marveled at her faith in him. She'd been shy about her body earlier and now she stood before him in nothing but a scrap of cotton and trusted him.

"Kiss me?" Her words were breathless and soft.

He could not refuse such a request. "You enjoy the kissing." Leaning down he placed a teasing kiss on her lips, before nuzzling along her jaw line to her ear. "There will be more kissing," he breathed, enjoying the shudder his words caused.

Then slowly he spread his hand wide and pushed. She took a step backwards. Severus rewarded her action with another kiss. Step by slow step, kiss by kiss, he maneuvered her across the room until they reached the bed. He swallowed her startled "Oh" with a deeper kiss as the back of her thighs hit the edge of the bed.

Hermione needed no urging from him, but eagerly hopped up on the bed, shifting backwards until she reached the headboard. He took a moment to remove the white shirt she'd unbuttoned earlier and shifted his hand down to the button of his trousers. There he paused, giving her a swift glance from beneath his lashes. Her eyes were focused on his hand and the erection straining the cloth of the trousers, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. She was breathing heavily, the movement causing her breasts to rise and fall in an almost hypnotic fashion.

"Take them off."

The words were soft, but clear. He slipped the button free and then stepped free of the confining clothing. Within a moment, he was straddling her on the bed, his hands and legs bracketing her body.

Hermione hummed her approval, a noise Severus was coming to associate with her being happy and pleased. It made him wonder what other noises he could pull from her. Sweeping down, he latched onto her lips again, this time a little harder, a little more aggressive. She responded beautifully, snaking her arms up and around neck, arching up into the space between them so that her weight pulled him down on top her.

Her heat scalded him and sent his blood pounding through his body, but nothing could have prepared him when Hermione opened her legs, and Severus dropped into the cradle of her thighs.

* * *

Hermione found herself lying boneless against Severus, her head resting on his chest as she listened to the slowing thump of his heart. _Merciful Merlin. She owed Lavender and Parvati an apology. Not to mention, if they all survived the coming battle, she was so borrowing some of Lavender's racier books and magazines_.

She hummed a bit in contentment and adjusted herself into a slightly more comfortable position. She never remembered falling asleep.

* * *

She was sprawled next to him, her body half covering his, her hair a tangled curtain obscuring her face. He fought the urge to laugh. He should have known that she wouldn't curl against his side like some delicate flower nor pull away to the opposite side of the bed like a ravished virgin. No, Hermione Granger took over – his body and the bed – just as she had every other part of his life, limbs and that damnable hair, now inescapably twinned around him.

Well, the cynical part of him amended, inescapable for however long his life lasted. He didn't think even her hair could follow him into whatever afterlife he was destined for. The arm thrown haphazardly across his chest monetarily tightened its grip around his ribs before relaxing again, almost as if in response to his dour thoughts.

_How had he come to this?_ If even a year ago he'd been told that Hermione Granger would be wrapped around him on the eve of the battle against Voldemort he'd have thought them mad. It was all so very strange, so very unlikely.

He yawned into the darkness.

Yet, he was warm and sated and oddly enough, loved. _So very odd, indeed_, was his last thought before sleep claimed him.

* * *

Hermione woke to the sound of her name. Blinking groggily, she found Severus dressed in potions Master regalia standing stiffly by her bed.

"Severus?"

"Good morning."

"Good . . . what?" She was tired and never at her best in the morning. But she was fairly sure that this was not how post first time sex was supposed to go. At least she didn't remember this scenario in any of her mother's more lurid books. Then again, she thought, this is Severus. Nothing with him ever went the way she thought it would. Attempting to wake up, she stretched, and then winced as a series of deep aches and pains made themselves known.

"Drink this."

Three small potion vials were thrust under her nose. She only recognized one. "Pain killer and . . . "

He shifted on his feet, and cleared his throat. "Pain killer, something to prevent pregnancy, and a mild healing potion. It will help." His eyes met hers steadily, but she could see the tension in his shoulders. He was nervous, almost wary and she realized that her actions now, even more so than last night, could send him running once again.

Too small potion vials were thrust under her nose. She only recognized one. "Pain killer and . . . "

He shifted on his feet, and cleared his throat. "Pain killer and a mild healing potion. It will help." His eyes met hers steadily, but she could see the tension in his shoulders. He was nervous, almost wary and she realized that her actions now, even more so than last night, could send him running once again.

Reaching forward, she caught his hand rather than the vials. With a quick twist, she slid from the bed to stand before him naked. She could feel the blush that swept over her skin, but deemed the embarrassment worth it as the pupils in his eyes dilated, becoming even more impossibly dark.

With slow movements, she downed each vial before rising up on her tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his lips. "Thank you, Severus. That was most kind to think of me."

She watched an embarrassed flush tint his cheeks a delicate pink. "Get back into the bed." The words were harsh but didn't match his tone and Hermione hid a smile against her shoulder as she climbed back under the warmth of the bed covers. She reveled in that warmth as Severus left to begin what could be their last day.

* * *

The atmosphere in Grimmauld Place was tense as everyone waited until evening. It didn't help that it was filled to capacity with everyone who would be going on the raid. The old house was large, but that many people, short-tempered and on edge, was a disaster in the making. To make matters, and Hermione's temper even worse, she hadn't seen Severus since he'd left her bed in the early dawn light. He'd not skulked off, nor acted in any way regretful, and he had given her the healing and pain potions, so she wasn't suffering any silly post-virginal insecurity. But she'd have liked to see him. He made her calm, and she could do with some calm right about now.

But it wasn't to be and all too soon the appointed hour arrived. Only then did Severus appear, expression closed off. The Order members moved aside as he walked through the assembled crowd to stand beside her. She could feel the cold she associated with his Occulmancy radiating off of him. He didn't speak but nodded to her. She knew she wasn't going to get more from him at this moment. Wiser now, she didn't press him, but let him have his own peace.

Instead she stared around the room at the assembled witches and wizards. They were such a rag-tag looking bunch, she wanted to laugh. They looked nothing like the pictures of soldiers Hermione had seen on the telly. Instead of camouflaged patterned and armored uniforms, the people around her were dressed in colorful robes and silly hats. None of them looked as if they were going to war.

Now it came down to waiting for Percy's signal to begin. She glanced at Ron and Harry. Ron's face was bright red, but his lips were pressed into a hard, flat line. Harry was still, his only movement the wand that kept appearing and disappearing into his hand. She was afraid to look at Severus, afraid that her fears would overcome her if she looked at him. But she could feel his solid presence at her back, steady and strong as the cold swirled around her magical senses. On impulse, she shifted her hand back and was both surprised and infinitely grateful when his callused fingers brushed her own.

Then Percy's Patronus was in the room. The Ministry wards were down.

"Go," Harry's voice was soft, but carried to everyone in the room.

In ones and twos, or small groups based on their assignments, the people she considered her friends and family vanished via illegal Portkeys and Disapparition until only Hermione and Severus remained.

They had to wait. She hated waiting. She turned to face him. "Severus?"

He didn't acknowledge the fear and love in her voice as he avoided her eyes. "Your friends are counting on you," was his answer instead. His voice was emotionless. To anyone else, he would have appeared his normal bastard self, but Hermione caught the fine tremble that swept across his frame every so often.

The love she felt tore at her insides knowing there was nothing she could do to stop this. So she did what she wanted. Grabbing two handfuls of that damnable coat, Hermione pulled a startled Severus down towards her, just enough to take his lips with hers. The kiss was brief and hard, but unmistakable in its meaning. And just in case he thought to play sneaky Slytherin guessing games with her motives, she whispered fiercely against his lips, "I love you."

As she pulled back, something very much like fear darted across his face. "Hermione—"

She shook her head fiercely. "No. I love you. Don't you dare die on me."

Before he could say anything else, he hissed, grabbing at his arm where the Dark Mark lay concealed beneath his coat. Voldemort was calling his Death Eaters. The link between them all was now open. Her heart pounding, Hermione wrapped her arms around him as Severus Disapparated them, following the call of the Dark Lord.

* * *

**Author's Note 4**: In case no one noticed, I'm a chatty author. I can't help myself. So, here is one more post-chapter chat – this chapter gave me fits. Not only because so many things needed to be included, but because of the erotic nature of the chapter. There is a fine line between making a reader breathless and making them go "ewww." I hope that I stayed on the breathless side of the line.

And here's a story tidbit for you – the entire scene in question was original written from Hermione's viewpoint, but Severus kept hijacking it. I'd find myself slipping into his POV without realizing it only to then slide into Hermione's POV. It just wouldn't stay with one point of view. Finally, I gave up and let the chapter write itself the way it wanted to. I don't know if it is better or worse. Although, I have to say that as a woman, writing this from Severus POV was kind of weird.

We have one more chapter and then the epilogue. I know that many of you are as shocked as I am.

-C


	51. Ch 48: One

**Author's Note 1:** Beta props go out to Melusin. Let's just say that if I was my beta, I'd have dumped my butt a long time ago.

There are a lot of very talented people over at DeviantArt that have done fanart for this story. Their work is amazing. Please go check them out: .com

And finally, everyone take a deep breath and hold on. If I did this right, it should be a non-stop ride until the end, when you come in for a smooth landing and can relax.

* * *

**Chapter 48: One**

The Ministry ball was awash in glittering fairy lights. A stringed quartet played from a small stage, the music loud enough to be enjoyed, but not so much as to disrupt conversation. The most powerful and influential in Britain's Wizarding world were gathered here this evening. Well-dressed wizards and witches mingled with each other and Ministry staff, flirting and courting, either consciously or unconsciously, the power that the Ministry wielded over them.

It was a beautiful and enchanting display. To the man known as Devrom Dollort, the room reeked of decay and rot. The glittering display hid only corruption, a boiling mass of pus beneath everything that was pure and good. It sapped and destroyed everything that the Wizarding world could be – should be – and like any surgeon, he would excise the infection in his midst.

It was such a powerful future, and only he was strong enough, powerful enough, to usher in the new golden age of wizarding might. From his spot slightly behind the Minster of Magic, he surveyed the scene and watched the couples on the dance floor swirl together and apart in time with the music. It was going to be a glorious future.

All of his plans were coming together. This would be the culmination of everything he'd worked towards. The setbacks he'd endured would be as nothing as he claimed his ultimate victory. When the pressure in the room subtly shifted, Voldemort smiled. It was beginning. He didn't even need the swift nod of confirmation from the lovely Bellatrix to know that the Order of the Phoenix had brought down the Apparation Wards enclosing the Ministry facility. They were coming. This was the glorious ending to all of his striving.

After this night, and the defeat of Dumbledore and his puppet brat Potter, he would take his proper place as the ruler of Britain's Wizarding world. He'd cut out the weak and diseased heart of the Wizarding world, leaving only the strong. He'd put the Muggleborn in their rightful place at the feet of the pureblooded. Then . . . then would begin the real work. Europe, Asia, the Americas, they would all bow to him in time. The oldest wizarding enclaves, he knew, would hold out the longest – Egypt, the Middle East and the African societies. But, by then, it would be too late, and they would be too outnumbered to stand against him for long. And when all of wizardom was his to command, the Muggles themselves would be brought to their knees.

As Dumbledore appeared in the middle of the room, Devrom Dollort shed his meek and unassuming stance he'd taken up behind the Minister of Magic. Now, he stepped boldly forward to stand at the edge of the dais that housed the higher ranked Ministry officials. It was, after all, proper to welcome his most expected guests. "Albus Dumbledore." His gaze shifted to the right, and he bowed slightly. "And the ever loyal and estimable, Minerva McGonagall." His eyes lingered on the tartan sash wound across her chest and her kilted up robes held in place by a broad leather belt. "I see you've come dressed for battle."

* * *

Albus stepped forward, ignoring the pops of Apparation around him, as the rest of the Order followed behind him, as well as the gasps and sounds of dismay from the party goers who didn't understand what was going on. There were various cries of "Dumbledore" or "Minister". He heard a few people mention "The Boy Who Lived" as Harry appeared. He even ignored the muttered curse behind him from Minerva at Tom's greeting.

"The time for shadow games is over, Tom." He swept his hands out to the now curious crowd, pitching his voice so that even those in the far corner of the room could hear. "These good people deserve to know the truth. There is no Devrom Dollort." Gasps from the crowd met this pronouncement. "Tell them who you are. Or would you prefer that I tell them? That you are Tom Marvolo Riddle, the son of Merope Gaunt, Witch, and Tom Riddle, a Muggle."

Voldemort was on his feet, his face red with anger. "Lies! Tom Riddle was a pathetic weakling. I am not Tom Riddle. I was NEVER Tom Riddle. It was never my fate to be constrained to that tiny, mundane little life." His face twisted into a snarl. "You want to know who I am?"

Pressing his wand to the suddenly bared arm of the man next to him, Voldemort shed the last of the glamours that hid him. "I am LORD VOLDEMORT." His voice rose over the gasps of horror and cries of fear from the crowd. "Come to me, my most loyal Death Eaters." Then, raising his wand over his head, he unleashed the Morsmordre over the gathering. The green energy from the spell shot upwards into the vaulted ceiling of the ballroom, but the spell was never meant to be contained indoors. Reaching the ceiling, the spell burst, raining down a sickly green mist that turned the once glittering ballroom dark and fearsome. As party-goers scattered, Voldemort laughed. "Now," he commanded. "All who acknowledge me, bring me my enemies."

Frightened wizards and witches watched in stunned disbelief as friends and neighbours, people they thought they knew well, pulled their wands amid shouts of, "Lord Voldemort."

* * *

Neville wasn't sure how he'd ended up in the far corner of the ballroom with Nagini. He'd volunteered to track the Lestranges. As Dumbledore and Voldemort talked, he'd seen Bellatrix Lestrange in the back of the crowd, and he'd taken off in her direction. Then Voldemort had released the Morsmordre, and he'd lost her in the screaming and milling people as the shattered remains of the spell has blanketed the room. Now he'd lost sight of both Harry and Ron. He'd stumbled around a bit, and he was fairly sure he'd seen his Gran, and she'd seen him – _and wouldn't he have some explaining to do later_ – and he'd obviously taken a wrong turn because everyone else was over _THERE_ and he was _HERE_.

With Nagini.

He took a step backwards. "Nice snake."

He took another step, his eyes darting around for help, any help. Patches of smoke still drifted along the floors, and clung to the walls, obscuring much of what was happening across the hall. No help looked to be coming.

Nagini slithered another foot forward, the muscles of her massive body bunching and contracting in a hypnotizing fashion.

He pointed his wand at her. "I'm warning you. Stay back."

Not that any of his last three spells had done anything to slow her down. The bright coloured splash of the spells just slid off her smooth scales. Her massive mouth opened, exposing fangs as long as Neville's hand. Obviously, she didn't think he was a threat. If snakes could laugh, Neville was sure she was laughing at him. She slid another foot closer.

Off to his side, obscured by drifting smoke, the screaming had stopped, and an ominous silence had fallen over the room. Into that silence, Neville heard Voldemort call Harry's name. He wasn't able to hear Harry's reply. Then his attention was back on Nagini as she darted forward.

As Neville scrambled backwards out of her reach, his heel caught, and he went down in a tumble, his robes tangling around his legs. "Ooophf."

Unforgiving metal dug into his back. The Sword of Gryffindor. He'd forgotten about it.

Nagini moved within striking range. Panicked, Neville rolled, trying to get to his feet, trying to get the sword free from its awkwardly strapped position.

He wasn't going to make it.

Behind him, Neville could hear singing and wondered if the angels were coming for him early.

And there was Lil' Sev, lying on the marble floor looking reproachfully up at Neville. He knew Sev must have come out of his pocket in his thrashing around, but Sev's dark eyes were looking at him, and Neville could hear the scathing voice of the Potions Master. _"Dunderhead! Are you just going to lie there and get eaten?"_

_Was he?_

Nagini rose up to her full height, mouth open and fangs bared as she prepared to strike.

She dived forward.

Wand still clutched in two fingers, Neville snatched Lil'Sev and flung him into Nagini's open mouth. "Engorgio!"

The giant snake reflexively bit down, her heavy coils slamming so hard into the floor that Neville could feel the vibration from where he lay.

"Engorgio." He tossed another spell at Lil' Sev and watched as the doll grew man-sized, its body filling the snake's jaws.

As Nagini struggled to dislodge the doll, Neville finally lurched up to his feet and pulled the Sword from its sheath. With both hands, he swung the sword, and with a single stroke, Neville sliced off the great snake's head, the force of his blow embedding the magical sword into the marble tiles beneath Nagini. Sinking to the floor, his body shaking with adrenaline, Neville thought he heard a shout behind him, but he couldn't be sure over the roaring of his own blood in his ears.

Gulping in great lungfulls of air, Neville realized that there really was singing. Someone, several someones, were singing. Grabbing hold of the glittering ruby in the sword's hilt, Neville leveraged himself up and followed the song.

* * *

Albus watched Bellatrix, eyes alight with madness, advance on him. The woman had been heading towards Harry, and Albus couldn't allow Bellatrix to distract Harry from his mission. "Oh, Miss Black, the world has not been kind to you."

She snarled, almost feral in her madness, as she flung another spell at him as she advanced. "My name is Lestrange," she hissed.

Albus easily deflected her spell, leading her off to the side, away from the crowd. "To me, you will always be that sweet little girl I first met at Hogwarts. What happened to her, Bellatrix? What happened to that trusting and loving child?"

"I trust and love my Master."

"He will not love you in return, my dear. He can't. Don't you see? It doesn't have to come to this. Break your ties to him."

"You know nothing," she screeched, flinging another spell. "My Master is everything. Through me, he shall prevail. He–"

She shuddered, her wand dropping from suddenly lax fingers. Eyes wide, she whipped her head around, seeking her fellow Death Eaters, seeing many of them fall.

"No!" she screamed. "No!" She staggered forward, only to go to her knees in front of Albus. "What have you done, old man?" She was fighting the spell, trying to throw off its hold.

He reached for her, holding her upright. "I'm sorry, Bellatrix."

Panting, she struggled to keep her eyes open. Grabbing his robes, she let her weight pull them to the ground. "Hate you," she ground out, even as her eyelids fluttered. "Hate . . . " Her right hand, her wand hand, released his robe to flatten against his chest over his heart.

"For my Master," she hissed. "Avada Kedavra."

* * *

Arrosa saw Bellatrix Lestrange pull Albus to the ground. Fear swept through her when neither moved as they hit the floor. _Merlin damn you old man if you've– _She didn't finish the thought as she dodged amongst the fighters and the flashing coloured lights of spells to fall to her knees beside the two prone bodies.

Turning Albus over, she ran her wand over him and the Lestrange woman. Dead. They were both dead, Albus with a peaceful look on his face while the Lestrange woman wore a frozen grimace of hate.

"Stubborn old goat," she muttered, as she closed the eyes on one of her oldest friends. Hardening her heart, knowing that she couldn't do anything here, she climbed back to her feet and flung a hex into a woman currently fighting the Weasley girl. Blinking back tears, she took off for the next downed Order member, hoping this time her skills would be needed.

* * *

Fred and George were in their element, darting and weaving amongst the crowd. They had been assigned to help the Order members fighting against non-Death Eaters. Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes were being used to confuse, distract and mark those fighting for Voldemort until designated Order members could take them down. The twins were chaos incarnate, and they revelled in it.

Yells, shouts and the unmistakable noises of duelling drew their attention. Percy and one of the Order members were flinging desperate curses at Thorfin Rowle, who blocked their efforts easily, an amused grin on his face.

Fred and George exchanged wicked grins and ran forward to help: Jets of light flew in every direction, and one of the men duelling Rowle went down clawing at his midsection, apparently in awful discomfort.

Fred and George both threw Stunning Spells, which Rowle deflected, but it was enough to distract Rowle as Percy dragged the downed man behind him for what little protection that offered.

Suddenly, Rowle wavered, swaying on his feet. His eyes went wide as he realized that something was wrong. "What did you– " He shook his head, fighting off what Percy knew to be Snape and Hermione's spell.

Rowle's lips pulled back in a snarl of rage, and his wand flicked outward in a non-verbal spell. Percy lunged forward. Too far away. He was too far away.

The very air seemed to explode. Percy felt himself lifted, flying through the air, as the force of the spell hit him. He could only curl in tight and hold on to his wand and wait for the fall. He hit the floor with a sickening crunch that he knew to be breaking bone. He opened his mouth to scream only to have the sound stolen from him. Someone else was screaming, a terrible cry that pulled at his insides, that expressed an agony of a kind neither flame nor curse could cause, and he surged upwards to his knees, ignoring his useless left arm, ignoring everything but the sound of that terrible, terrible scream. He stood up, swaying, more frightened than he had been that day, more frightened, perhaps, than he had ever been in his life.

He'd been blown sideways, off to the side of where Rowle stood. "No-no-no!" Someone was shouting. "No! Fred! No!" George on his knees, blood running down his face, as he shook Fred who lay unmoving on the floor.

"George," he screamed. Or thought he screamed. He couldn't tell over the keening wail of misery coming from George. He expected George to turn and fire at Rowle, but George was lost to anything but his twin. He wasn't paying attention to Rowle, who was training his wand on him.

"Avada K– "

"No." Raising his own wand, Percy stepped between Rowle and his brothers. To Percy's surprise, Rowle stopped his curse. His head cocked, he ignored the chaos around them as he studied Percy as if he'd never seen him before. "Percy Weasley."

Percy raised up his chin. Bloodied, beaten, but still himself. "Thorfinn Rowle," he rasped out.

Rowle chuckled in response, as if he was pleased at Percy's audacity. "Step aside, Percy."

"I can't do that."

"Percy, Percy."

It was said with such a mocking paternal air that Percy's stomach roiled. _How could he have ever been so blind to not see what this man really was?_

"You were always the smartest of the Weasleys, Percy. Ambitious. A striver. Others may have scoffed, but we recognized your talents straight away. You always knew who was on the winning side. Whatever little trick you just tried, it didn't work on me. Don't make a mistake now and throw away everything we can give you."

Percy tilted his head to indicate the room around them, never taking his eyes off Rowle. "You call this winning? It's chaos." He choked down a rising sob. "People are dying." _Already dead, _a part of him whispered in despair_._

Rowle's stance relaxed. "Change is never easy. Some people always resist. But we'll prevail, Percy. The Wizarding World will, OUR WORLD, will take its rightful place. We won't hide amongst the Muggles like scared mice. We are the powerful ones, and we will take what is rightfully ours."

"But it's not yours."

Rowle continued as if he hadn't heard Percy's words, lost in his own righteous fanaticism. "Join us now. It doesn't have to be this way. We have great and wonderful plans for the world. The Dark Lord will reward you greatly. Anything you desire. It could be yours. Think about it."

"You're right," Percy said. "I do know the winning side." Percy dipped his wand tip, and Rowle's smile grew wider in anticipation.

Thanks to the Pensieve memories, Percy remembered Snape's dealings with the Death Eaters. He knew the tortures he'd endured. He knew things he wished he could unknow. But most of all, he knew the curses that Snape had used. He knew the sound and the shape and feel of the words in his mouth. He knew the hate needed to generate them. He knew the cost.

Percy dropped to the floor like a marionette whose strings had been cut. "Avada Kedavra." Rowle's startled return curse sailed harmlessly over Percy's head in the place where he had been standing.

Clenching his teeth against his heaving stomach, Percy crawled over to Rowle to make sure the man was dead. Wide eyes stared unseeingly up at the ceiling. Dead.

"For Fred," he whispered to the empty shell of Rowle. "For my parents." He swallowed hard. "For making me almost believe."

Percy lost the battle with his stomach.

* * *

Ron was good at tactics. He always had been. He also had a temper and a tendency to ignore his own good sense of tactics and simply leap into the fray without thought or care. If this last year of playing chess with Snape had taught him anything, it was that he needed to go with his strengths. Life, he'd discovered, often mirrored the chessboard if one had the eyes and patience to see the patterns.

He wasn't all that comfortable with the extension of that thought – that once you understood the patterns of the people around you, it was just an easy step to manipulate them into moving across the board of life to your desires. It was all too easy to start thinking you knew what was best and arranging things accordingly.

But, now he needed that very skill. He'd wanted to stay by Harry's side, but he'd finally conceded that position to Ginny and hoped that his sister and best friend stayed safe. It wasn't his job. His, along with Kingsley Shacklebolt's, was to direct the battle – to move the pieces across the chessboard of this fight as needed, shifting their forces against Voldemort's supporters and giving Harry the time he needed.

Apparating into the Ministry Ballroom, Ron had almost laughed. The floor, marble polished until it gleamed under the thousands of fairly lights encircling the room, was laid out in an enormous black and white checkerboard pattern. Chess it was, then. Nodding at Shacklebolt, Ron stepped away to take up his position. Ignoring what was going on between the Headmaster and Voldemort, Ron deliberately turned away from Harry and his sister and concentrated on his task and the changing landscape of the ballroom.

As expected, the crowd had shifted, unsure and confused by the Order's sudden appearance in their midst. Scanning the crowd, he made out several of their targets and others that they had suspicions about. Motioning to those assigned to him, he sent them fanning out to find their targets and move into place. They only had a small window of opportunity to get everyone ready before Voldemort called his Death Eaters to him. Because Voldemort would call the Death Eaters to join him here, not that there weren't already enough of them scattered through the crowd already. Not to mention those followers who wore no Mark, but were following simply from loyalty or ideology.

Watching his teams head out, each to their assignments, he felt a sense of pride and dread. His directions could get any one of them killed, and it terrified him. _Move the pieces_, he thought. _Pieces on a board_. He pointed out a strategic vantage point to Professor Vector. They'd discovered that she wasn't a powerful duelist, but she had an impeccable aim. She would cover the crowd in general and pick off combatants from afar.

He saw Luna Lovegood dart into the crowd after the Goyles, her assigned targets.

One of their Slytherins gave him a nod as he took his assigned position at one of the doorways leading further into the Ministry building. There would be no escaping from this place once Percy raised the anti-Apparation wards so long as they had the exits covered.

He caught a glimpse of red hair and spared only a thought for Ginny. Ginny was strong. She'd keep herself and Harry safe.

Then the atmosphere shifted, something felt more than heard. Heart beginning to pound, he looked up to the small stage where Voldemort stood, just his head visible to Ron at this distance. He was just in time to see him proclaim his rightful identity and call his faithful to him.

For one brief moment, the crowd seemed to hold its breath, and then chaos erupted as friend turned on supposed friend, and men and women in hooded robes began Apparating into the room. _Do it now, Hermione_, he thought, just before he flung a curse at a black-robed figure that appeared at the edge of the crowd.

Ron knew immediately when Hermione launched her spell as the Death Eater facing him started to sway. They'd never known exactly how the spell would affect the Death Eaters. That question was answered as first one and then another known Death Eater collapsed. The spell was spreading outward, moving from one to the next, but even Ron could see that it was losing strength as it spread. It was their second to worst case scenario: the first, of course, being that it didn't work at all.

It made his job harder, but not impossible. They'd talked about this. Planned for this. Ten moves ahead in the game. Then it was all about reading the shifting of the crowd, moving people and resources where they were needed, trying to herd those deemed on their side to the side of the fighting and way from their people.

A scream jerked his attention to a knot of fighters. Colin was down, a bloody twisted stump where his right hand used to be. Agnes was kneeling beside him and literally spitting at Lucius Malfoy. With a curse, Ron took off running, but he wasn't going to make it. Too late. Too late, pounded through his brain with each step. Then, even as he was coming up on them, Malfoy wavered before going down onto one knee. It was with a small grin of satisfaction that he watched Malfoy Senior topple over as Mrs Malfoy gave a short scream and rushed to his side.

Putting on a last burst of speed, Ron slid across the floor, grabbing up Colin as he went. Hauling the younger and lighter boy to his feet, he shoved him at Agnes. "Get to the edges," he yelled before turning to confront Draco Malfoy, who now stood over his father's body, his wand swinging from side to side in a protective motion. Ron watched for another heartbeat to see if Draco would go down.

_Huh. Guess Harry owed him five Galleons since it didn't look like the Ferret had taken the Mark. _

"Malfoy, drop your wand."

"Weasel," he snarled out.

"Listen to me, Malfoy, it's your only chance. Drop your wand and be a non-combantant or keep it and be branded as one of Voldemort's followers."

Draco's eyes were darting around in panic. "What did you do to my father?"

"He's not hurt. But I can't guarantee the same for you or your mother if you don't _drop your wand_."

"You think I'm going to believe you?"

"You don't have a choice, Malfoy."

"No. Confringo!

Ron threw up a Shield Charm to block Malfoy's spell. "Damn it, Malfoy. Listen to me."

"_Expelliarmus_!"

The spell hit Ron square, and he went down in an ungainly tangle of arms and legs, his momentum sliding him along the smooth surface of the marble floor. When he finally came to a stop, he rolled onto his side and looked up into the down-pointed wand of Draco Malfoy.

"_Stupefy_." A woman's voice.

Ron stared in shock as Malfoy stiffened and then fell over. Ron looked over to find Narcissa Malfoy standing between her downed husband and her son, her wand clasped loosely in her hand. A few shaky steps carried her to Draco where she reached down to scoop up his wand. She held out her's and Draco's wands as Ron scrambled to his feet. Blonde head held high, she declared. "We are non-combatants."

Ron gave her a shaky nod and directed her to a small room that they'd designated as a safe haven for civilians. Ron noted that even as Narcissa pulled Draco up to his feet, she never once looked at the stunned body of her husband lying a few feet away.

* * *

Hermione and Severus appeared behind Voldemort and off to his left. There was a small cloak room there that had been designated for their use. Hermione was grateful to see that it had already been secured. Mills, loud, obstinate and cantankerous was standing vigilant guard outside the arched doorway.

Time was of the essence so it was only a quick nod of greeting she gave the other Order member as they stepped into the dimly lit room.

It took only a few seconds for Hermione to kneel down next to Severus, who was already stretched out on the floor, his sleeve pushed up to his elbow. Centering herself, she gathered her magic and began the spell. _Pillows. It's just like all the practice with the Dark Pillows._

Hermione felt her magic mesh together with Severus'. She almost expected to hear a _click_ as they locked together. As the first tendrils of her magic slid into the Dark Mark, Severus stiffened. She wanted to look at him, to reassure herself that he was okay. She couldn't though, couldn't stop the spell now.

Swish. Flick. Flick. Loop.

She was through the first few strata of the spell, the deeper layers of the Dark Mark an ephemeral oily touch against her magical senses. She shuddered in revulsion as she slid beneath the last layer and touched something so vile, so dark, that her stomach heaved.

This was the moment.

She wanted to tell Severus she loved him.

The words to the spell tumbled from her lips instead.

She wanted to reach out to him, but instead her hand stayed steady on her wand.

Gathering her magic, Hermione channelled the Stunning Spell that Professor Flitwick had crafted straight into the heart of the Dark Mark, straight into the nexus of magic that linked all of Voldemort's Death Eaters together.

As the Stunning Spell, deliberately crafted to be stronger than any normal spell, released, Severus screamed.

She couldn't stop it, couldn't call back the magic once released. Severus writhed on the floor, his body arching as power flooded his magical pathways, diving down straight into the Dark Mark, and the magic there fought back. Then he stilled.

"Severus?"

When he didn't answer, she shook him. "Severus?"

He was still. "No. Please, Severus, no."

The matrix flashed before her eyes. Severus' line entwined with hers. His line ending, and only hers emerging from the nexus point of the battle.

Severus wasn't breathing.

Healer Alvarez was out there, she knew. Maybe. But, magic had killed him. She'd felt the overload, felt as the Stunning Spell had burned through Severus, ripping through the chakra points backwards in a way that magic had never been intended to flow. Would adding even more magic now help or hurt, even if it was healing magic?

She didn't know, and there wasn't time. Muggle means, then. Her mind was frantic, casting about for solutions, knowing that every second counted now.

"Rink!"

* * *

From the day that Pauline Granger had discovered her daughter was a witch, she'd known things were going to change. Her view of the world had shifted. Things that had once belonged to the realm of fairy tales – vampires, giants, witches, had all became real. She'd gained a new vocabulary and new friends. Sometime in Hermione's second year at Hogwarts, Pauline had asked Hermione for the names of some of her classmates that had, like her, been born to non-magical parents. With the help of her husband, Pauline had started a small support group for other parents of magical children.

It was hard for her and the other parents to see their precious children slowly slipping away from them, into a world and a culture they couldn't themselves participate in. Yet none of them wanted to hold their children back.

When she'd been given the title of Line Matriarch for the House of Granger, and three elves had been given into her care, she'd been both terrified and thrilled. He was terrified because, well, she was being given responsibility for another _species_ and thrilled because it let her into her daughter's world in a small way, a way that she otherwise wouldn't have had.

Then she'd received Hermione's' confessional letter. She'd known her daughter wasn't telling her everything. After all, talk and comparing notes and information was exactly what the parents' group did. But she'd not really known the extent of it. She hadn't known that her daughter had given her heart to Severus Snape, a man she'd heard of repeatedly from the other parents' stories.

And tonight, New Year's Eve, her daughter was going to war. It sounded completely ridiculous and yet . . . Pauline glanced at the crumpled letter on the coffee table and shook her head.

She pulled her robe tighter around her waist and glanced again at the clock. It was happening now.

With a crack of sound louder than any she'd heard before, Rink appeared before her. The elf's ears were laid down flat against his skull and his eyes were filled with terror.

"Hermio-"

She didn't finish her word as her hand was grabbed and she pulled _elsewhere_. She found herself in an ordinary looking cloakroom with Hermione, who was kneeling beside a black-clad man, eyes red-rimmed and tear filled.

"Mum! He's not breathing."

For one moment, Pauline remembers: _"Mum, it's broken." "Mum. They laughed at me." "Mum, why am I different?"_ A thousand times in a thousand ways her daughter had come to her asking her to fix what was broken.

"I-"

"Please."

Right. As a dental surgeon in a clinic that dealt with anesthesia, Pauline and her husband Stewart were both required to be CPR certified, but she'd never had to do this, not outside the classroom.

"No beat."

Hermione made a sound at Rink's words that tore at her heart.

She could do this. Falling to her knees, she titled his head back, checked his airways and settled her hands in proper position.

"Breath for him when I tell you, Hermione."

Ignoring every horror story she'd heard of CPR gone wrong – broken ribs, punctured lungs, internal damage to the heart – Pauline performed her first compression.

_One. Two. Three. Four. Five._ "Breathe."

Compress.

_One. Two. Three. Four. Five._ "Breathe."

Maintaining the count in her head, she barely heard the running litany of entreatments from Hermione. "Please Severus. Don't do this. Please."

_One. Two. Three. Four. Five._ "Breathe."

"You've done everything they've wanted. You don't have to do this."

_One. Two. Three. Four. Five._ "Breathe."

"Sev-" Hermione's voice cracked. "Please," she finally whispered.

_One. Two. Three._

"Beat."

Her first thought was that Rink was adding his own demands for life to Hermione's. But a swift glance at the elf stayed her next compression. Rink was tilted forward, both bat-winged ears focused downward.

"Beat," he said again.

"Come on," she whispered. "Come on. Breathe."

The still chest rose a tiny fraction. Grabbing her daughter's shoulder, she got her attention.

"Beat." Rink was looking at her wide-eyed and crazy even for the elf as he bowed low to her, his long pointy nose just touching the ground. "Line Matriarch."

She just caught her daughter as Hermione threw herself into her arms. "Thank you. Thank you," she sobbed. "I don't . . . I didn't . . .Line Matriarch," she finally choked out.

Blinking back her own tears, she fell back on her own practical nature. "Hermione, he needs medical attention. And what is going on? Where are we? Who is this?"

Hermione's head came up as the sound of singing penetrated the small room. She leaned over and planted a kiss on the comatose man – Severus, Pauline was guessing. "Mum, I'll explain, but not right, not right now. I have to . . . Stay here with him. Rink, don't let anyone in here. Don't let anyone do anything stupid to my mum."

"Hermione?"

"I can't, Mum." Her head turned towards the sound of the singing. "Later. I promise."

Hermione scrubbed away the marks of her tears with the heel of her hand. "I'm sorry." As Pauline watched, her daughter slipped through the doorway and back into that other mysterious world.

Pauline sat back with a sigh. Her knees hurt from kneeling on the marble. Her back hurt from being hunched over. She was wearing a housecoat that was as old as Hermione and slippers that might once have been blue. She had no doubt that this was how she was going to meet her daughter's world.

She glanced over at Rink, whose ears were still firmly focused on Severus Snape, a man her daughter quite obviously loved.

Outside the room, the singing was getting louder. Now that she was listening, she realized she knew the song. It was an old lullaby. Pausing to catch the next phrase, she started to hum along.

* * *

Harry ignored everything going on around him, trusting the Order to handle Voldemort's supporters and Ginny to handle anyone that tried to attack him. They were hoping that Voldemort's standing order that he wasn't to be killed would protect them until they were ready. So far, their luck was holding. Ginny and Harry stood like a small spot of calm in a room that was swirling chaos, but it was necessary. Hermione's spell had to begin before Harry made his move on Voldemort. The Death Eaters had to be incapacitated so that Voldemort couldn't siphon their magic and strength for his own use.

They were directly opposite Voldemort who still stood on the dais watching Harry with an almost unblinking stare. Occasionally, he would look around as if he was trying to find someone. The third time he glanced around, Harry could see anger and frustration rising in him. It was then that Harry realized who he was looking for.

Harry broke away from Ginny and took a step forward. "He's not coming," he called. "You're looking for Severus Snape, and he's not coming."

Voldemort shook his head. "I would know if he was either dead or did not answer my call."

Harry gave him a grim smile. "I didn't say that he didn't answer your call. Just that he's not coming to aid you. You've been deceived."

"Then the traitor will die. Just like you will." Voldemort flicked his wand, a non-verbal spell sent in Harry's direction.

Harry ducked reflexively as the acid green light of the Killing Curse splashed harmlessly against his Shield Charm. "It won't work. You can't kill me with the Curse."

Voldemort lost his façade of calm. "Then, boy, I will kill you with my bare hands."

Harry stood his ground as Voldemort leapt from the dais to stalk towards him, the area around them now devoid of combatants – a sea of people and there was just the two of them. "You still don't get it, do you?"

"The only thing I need to _get_," Voldemort snarled,_ "_is that you die today."

Harry shook his head. "Then what?" he asked, weariness sounding in his voice. Sweeping his arm out, he indicated the horrified crowd that surrounded them. "They know who you are now. They know the names and faces of those who follow you."

Voldemort laughed, the sound ugly in the silence that surrounded them. "You think I care about them? They are sheep, and will learn their place within my new order."

"But who will you share your new world with? Where are your friends? Your family? There is no one you love that you can share your vision with."

"Love is a weakness and inconsequential."

"No, you're wrong. It took me a long time to understand it. I went down your path for a while." His eyes swept the room to settle briefly on Ginny, still bravely guarding his back. "But I learned. I understand now."

Voldemort laughed again as he stepped forward. "You know nothing."

As Voldemort drew close, Harry dropped his wand, the sound of wood striking the polished marble floor loud to his ears. From a pocket in his robes, he drew a small silver needle and pricked his finger.

His face stretched in a suddenly triumphant grin, Voldemort reached for Harry, and Harry lunged forward and met him, stepping forward into the monster's embrace. Voldemort wasn't expecting the move, and Harry felt the other's body stiffen in shock as Harry wrapped his arms around Voldemort's ribs, locking his hands together and holding Voldemort's wand down flat between them.

"You created this body, this stolen life, with my blood. _My blood_, Tom. Did you forget that it's bound to her last gift of love to me? For my protection?" Tightening his grip against the now struggling Voldemort, Harry pricked the back of Voldemort's neck with the needle and placed his own bleeding hand over the wound. "My mum loved me," Harry whispered, and then he began to sing, his voice hesitant and unsure. "_Sleep my child and peace attend thee, All through the night, Sleep my child and peace attend thee, All through the night."_

As the first words of the spell echoed around them, Voldemort jerked and pulled hard against Harry's hold, but Harry continued to sing, his voice gaining power. Doing as the book had said, Harry put aside his fear and hatred and concentrated on everything good in his life. He remembered the day his first Hogwarts' letter had arrived, his meeting on the train with Hermione and Ron, that first exhilarating ride on a broom. Cho Chang flashed across his memories, and the first time he'd held Ginny's hand and the picture of himself, his mother and father, together, within the Mirror of Erised.

Still singing, he thought about Voldemort and everything Dumbledore had been teaching him about the man who had once been Tom Riddle. Reaching deep within for his compassion, he reached to understand the other - he knew the loneliness of being an orphan. He knew the fear of abuse and hatred. He knew what it felt like to desperately want friends, and acceptance and to be liked by his peers. He even knew the temptation of turning to the Dark Arts to take the easy way forward.

Voldemort was twisting wildly now as he fought to break Harry's hold, screaming his rage as he felt the single thread of pure magic spiral down into his soul, blood to blood. Unable to keep his hold and remain singing, Harry's voice faltered. For one brief horrifying minute, Harry thought all was lost before a cracked and reedy voice picked up the song. Harry's head jerked up as he sought to find the singer.

* * *

When the screaming had started, Augusta Longbottom had drawn her wand and taken shelter behind an overturned table with two wizards. As any good duelist knows, it's better to assess the situation before diving into the fight. Seeing her grandson Neville appear, holding the hand of a younger boy, along with many of his friends was surprising, but not as surprising as watching numerous witches and wizards in the crowd fall to the floor. As each fell, they were secured by one of her grandson's friends or others.

Dollort was Voldemort, and the confrontation long feared between Potter and You-Know-Who was happening now. Everyone could hear the words echoing between Voldemort and Potter, but unsure of how best to aid her grandson, whom she'd lost sight of in the crowd, she stayed where she was until Potter began to sing.

Confused, she leveraged herself back to her feet, her cane planted solidly into the ground. Potter knelt on the floor, the wizard, Devrom Dollort - Voldemort - clasped in his arms. Both were struggling, Dollort obviously trying to get away while Potter was just as obviously trying to hold onto him. Even as she watched, the glamours and other spells surrounding Voldemort began fading, revealing the monster's true face.

Augusta Longbottom had lived a long time. She was demanding, stern and uncompromising in many ways. No one had ever accused her of being soft, but neither was she stupid. She was a pureblood witch from a long and distinguished family. She'd borne three children and had made magical sleeping sheets for all of them. She knew the song Potter was singing and knew its significance.

Magic swirled around Potter, called by the song. Light met Dark. Pure battled against Corruption. With steady steps, Augusta headed toward Potter and planted herself next to him. Closing her eyes, she remembered her children, remembered her grandson Neville's birth, and remembered happier times when her family was whole. When Potter stumbled over the words of the lullaby, she began to sing, funneling the song and her magic to the boy.

* * *

Voldemort's body stiffened, a shout of pain rising from him. "Nagini."

Harry followed Vodemort's gaze, but could see nothing past the people encircling them. He could guess what had happened. Someone had killed the giant snake. "She's gone. They're all gone. It's just you and me now, and it's time to rest."

Harry once again took up the song, his voiced joined by more and more people as they understood what was happening, even if they didn't completely understand how or why. It was enough though as each round of the song grew surer and the magic swelled with each repetition.

Voldemort had long since stopped struggling and lay limp in Harry's arms, except for one hand that clutched hard at Harry's arm. Eyes that usually showed nothing but hate and contempt were now filled with a roiling mix of terror and confusion.

The singing continued around them, and Harry could feel the magic thrumming through him. Its purity and intent was a heady mix, and it reminded him of what he felt when he flew high and fast on his broom. Gathering up the magic, he focused it together, twisting the multiple strands together. Gathering up Voldemort, Harry hugged him close. "It's okay," he whispered. "I'm not going to hurt you. But it's time to sleep now. Time to let go."

Voldemort shuddered. "Pot-ter-" The voice lacked strength as the magic transferred from Harry into Voldemort.

Rocking slightly, as if Voldemort were a baby in his arms, Harry said again, "It's okay. Can't you feel it? There's no hate. No fear. There's only love and peace. Go to sleep. Rest. I'll stay with you for a while."

Voldemort shuddered again, his eyes flicking once, then twice before falling closed.

Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort, Devrom Dollort, terror of the Wizarding World for over twenty years, died with a quiet sigh.

As the body slumped heavy in his arms, Harry felt a confusing mix of emotions well up in him. Joy and relief were there, but so was an almost overwhelming sadness and pity. Harry Potter bowed his head and began to cry, great wracking sobs that sent tears splashing down across Voldemort's face. Due to an enterprising staff photographer that had been assigned to cover the party, and had spent most of the battle hiding behind a potter plant, the image was to become the iconic symbol of the defeat of Voldemort.

* * *

He came awake by slow degrees. The pain was the first thing he noticed, both sharp and dull, as if a giant hound had his chest in its jaws and couldn't decide if it wanted to bite or gnaw. Pain, however, was a thing he was long acquainted with, so he ignored it. The light, though, that seared his eyes even through his closed eyelids was an annoyance that had to be taken care of.

Severus had never been a man to suffer the small annoyances well. In the spirit of doing something about the infernal light, he forced his eyes open and found himself staring up at the familiar vaulted ceiling of the Hogwarts' infirmary.

"I should have known this would be my hell." It was, after all, the only explanation for his being here. He was dead.

A soft chuckle drew his attention to an unfamiliar woman sitting in a chair to the side of his bed. He narrowed his eyes at her. "You are not what I would have pictured for my personal devil. Actually, I always rather pictured Albus."

She smiled at him, the curve of her lips and the warmth in her brown eyes familiar and yet not.

"You aren't dead. Well, maybe for a minute or three, but you got better." She was smiling again, as if at some private joke.

He frowned. "I am quite certain I remember dying, and if there is a hell, this is mostly certainly mine." He closed his eyes again. "Begone, she-devil, and leave me be."

She chuckled again, much to his annoyance. Yet, there was again that flash of almost recognition. "I can see why Hermione likes you."

His eyes snapped back open to glare at the woman. "You will not speak of her!"

The woman's face lost all trace of amusement as she leaned forward. Her own eyes narrowed. "Perhaps, I ought to introduce myself. My name is Pauline Granger. I'm Hermione's mother. I saved your life, and you are most assuredly not dead."

"Impossible," he snapped.

The amusement was back as she peered at him. "No, impossible is how I'm going to explain all this to my husband. You, dear, are just improbable. Which for some reason, thrills my daughter no end."

There were too many questions running through his head that needed answers, but the most important needed to be asked. "Hermione is well?"

Clapping her hands together, Pauline Granger stood up. "She is grieving for lost friends, trying to put right this world of yours, and worried sick about you. Now, don't go anywhere. I told everyone that I'd alert them the moment you woke up. Back in a bit."

As soon as Pauline Granger stepped from the room, Severus leveraged himself up in the bed with a groan. His body certainly hurt enough for him to be dead, but if she was to be believed, he was alive. With a hand that shook, he pushed up the sleeve of the infirmary gown that Poppy favored. There was a Muggle style dressing over his arm. Impatiently he pulled at the bandage, heedless of the fine hairs on his arm that were caught in the sticky tape. He sucked in a ragged breath as it finally came free. Where once the Dark Mark had stood out against his pale skin, now there was only a swollen, red, and slightly oozing burn.

So focused was he on his arm that he didn't hear anyone enter until Minerva spoke. "Only yours is a burn."

Severus' gaze snapped up to her. "Only mine?"

"Healer Alverez says it's a spell burn. She said it would heal but you've had so much magic poured through your system that she wants it to heal on its own rather than through magical means. Everyone else who carried the Mark still has theirs although they are faded and grey."

"Then he is . . . " Severus could hear his heart pounding in his ears but he forced himself to say the name, "Voldemort is dead."

Minerva's expression went hard and cold. "Dead. His body burned with Fiendfyre and his ashes scattered to the winds."

He sank back a little into the pillows. He was alive and the Dark Lord, Voldemort, was dead. It took him several long moments to think that through. He was alive. Hermione was alive. Albus had told him- "Where's Albus?" The question was sharp. Albus should be here telling him this. And he knew the answer even before Minerva spoke.

"Bellatrix Lestrange. She cast a wandless Avada and caught herself and Albus in the same spell."

Severus closed his eyes, deep sorrow welling up where only moments before there had been a seemingly boundless joy. He and Albus had had such a complicated relationship over the years. But even in those times he'd hated Albus the most, he'd also still loved the old man. To know that he was gone left him feeling empty in a way that he hadn't realized he could feel.

It was too much. Too many emotions were swamping him. He didn't know what he was supposed to feel and Minerva's compassionate gaze was doing nothing but making matters worse. At feeling the uncertainly, he fell back on logic, pulling his Occulmancy Shields in close to cordon off his wildly shifting emotions. He would grieve later. "What has happened? I'm assuming that since we are back in Hogwarts that we were victorious."

Minerva had known him too many years and took his emotional retreat for the protective action it was. Severus was infinitely grateful that she gave him time to compose himself as she settled into the same chair that Mrs Granger had been sitting in earlier. "Victorious, but not without losses, I'm afraid." Taking off her spectacles, she rubbed at her eyes, and Severus thought he could see every one of her seventy-odd years of age. "The list of the dead and injured is . . . We were lucky that Healer Alvarez was there. Many wouldn't have made it without her quick attentions."

"Who?"

"Adrian Puce."

_One of his Slytherins._

"He died defending a group of guests from the elder Ephraim Greenway."

"Greenway? I didn't even know he was supporter." He shook his head. "Who else? Tell me all of it."

"Lavender Brown. Moody, we think. We found his magical eye rolling around the ballroom, but found nothing of him. Nymphadora Tonks. Fred Weasley. Colin Creevey lost his hand. Alvarez says that she won't be able to grow a new one, but is working on a magical construct. Mills took some bad spell burns, but should recover. Nevile Longbotton says someone named Sev Little died, but I don't think I knew him." She shook her head. "The rest of our injured, those that haven't already been treated and released, are at St Mungos. We were lucky Severus. The spell from you and Hermione . . . it made all the difference. When the Death Eaters started falling, it was like it sapped the belief of the others. Many simply surrendered their wands." Minerva fell silent, watching him. Then added, "You also died, Severus."

"How exactly did a Muggle bring me back from death? And how is a Muggle even in Hogwarts?"

Minerva chuckled, even if her mirth was tinged with sadness. "I'm afraid I don't understand the means of your resurrection, although Healer Alvarez says that she does. You could ask her, or Mrs Granger or Hermione about it. Although, Mrs Granger says that Rink deserves a lot of the credit as well. Something about better hearing that an EKG, although I have yet to understand what this EKG thing is and why it has ears. As for Mrs Granger's presence in Hogwarts, that seems to be the elves doing. Hermione said something about courtesies due a visiting Line Matriarch."

There was the topic that he was really afraid to ask about, but Minerva was watching him now, a smile playing about her lips. He knew that she'd wait him out and make him outright ask the question. "What of Potter, Weasley, and Hermione?"

"With Voldmort's death, the full extent of the corruption of the Ministry was revealed. Percy Weasley has stepped forward with an admirable strength. He and Kingsley Shacklebolt have been attempting to bring order from the chaos. Their first task was bringing down the wards around Britain that had kept many of our people out and freeing those still falsely imprisoned in Azkaban. Harry's lending his name and backing to Percy to get that sorted out. Ron Weasley is at the Burrow. Charlie and Bill are back home and helping the others, but poor Arthur, he . . ."

"He saw Molly die. You do not get over that."

"No."

They both fell silent for a moment. "And Hermione?" he finally asked, feigning what he hoped was a certain indifference.

The smile Minerva gave him in return caused him to scowl. "She'd be here now, but she's been helping with the prisoners, sorting out the surviving Death Eaters and those that were just supporters. She has been–"

"Headmistress McGonagall?"

A young man Severus vaguely remembered as having left school four or five year ago stuck his head around the door. "Sorry to disturb you, Headmistress, but is there any way you can come to the Great Hall? We're trying to put up the banners for the returning students, and every time we do, they change to Hufflepuff colours as winners of this year's House Cup. We can't get them to change."

"Headmistress?" he asked, as Minerva climbed to her feet with a sigh.

Minerva made a face, her lips pinched tight. "I've wished a thousand times a day that Albus was still here to do this. I don't know if I'm up to it anymore, but our world needed the normalcy of Hogwarts." She leaned over and patted at his blanket covered feet. "Let me take care of whatever is going on with the banners, then I'll come back."

He waited precisely four minutes after she disappeared before throwing back the covers. "Rink!"

When the elf appeared, Severus was already sitting on the side of the bed. "Fetch my clothes and robes." As Rink was bowing his acceptance, Severus added," And then go tell Lonny that I'm accepting you back into my service."

"Master of Potions is-"

"Clothes, Rink," he snapped. Satisfied he'd headed off any soppy declarations of elven gratitude, he climbed to his feet. Wobbly but manageable. A little thing like death wasn't going to keep him in that bed another moment longer.

A few minutes later, upon Rink's return, he was dressed.

"You know, I don't think you're supposed to be up."

Severus turned to find Mrs Granger standing in the doorway. "There are things to do that cannot wait. I have been lying about for days."

"You've been unconscious for days. There is a difference." When he made no comment, she threw up her hands in a gesture of frustration that he'd seen Hermione use. "She said you were stubborn, but good Lord. At least go sit in the chair before you fall over."

He privately conceded she might have a point and went to sit down. He did not miss the sigh of relief when he made it without falling over.

"Thank you." She looked startled. "Minerva informs me that I do indeed owe my life to you."

Mrs Granger pulled up another chair, her expression serious. "My little girl begged me to save you." There was something in the way that she said "_my little girl_" that set off Severus' finely honed instincts of survival.

"You've spoken with Hermione." He didn't voice the '_about me'_ part of the sentence but it was understood by them both.

"I have."

"You wish to know my intentions toward your daughter."

She nodded slowly. "Over the last week Hermione has told me a great deal about her intentions towards you. I want to know if you are going to break her heart." Her voiced turned wintry. "And if I'm going to regret saving your life."

"Fair enough. I probably will break Hermione's heart a dozen times." As Mrs Granger's body stiffened, he added, "The age difference between us is not considered extreme by wizarding standards, but I fear her _youth _is wasted on me."

Pauline studied him with sharp eyes and Severus was tempted to peer into her mind just to see how she viewed him. He had no illusions that he would not be a mother's first choice for her only daughter.

Finally, she asked, "Are you going to ask my daughter to marry you?"

"Today? No. Tomorrow. No, as well."

"No?"

She seemed shocked and Severus sought a way to explain. "Hermione has her whole life in front of her. I have spent most of my life bound to the will of others. I will NOT bind her to me."

"My daughter loves you."

"A fact I do not doubt."

"Yet, you are not asking her to marry you? Don't you love her? Is that your problem?"

He pushed himself up out of the chair. Hermione always had the ability to agitate his emotions. It seemed that even when she wasn't there, she had the ability to discomfit him, even beyond the discipline of Occulmancy. He needed to pace, wobbly as his steps were. "I have loved before. Once. I know what it feels like. I do love Hermione. That is not the problem."

"But, you doubt her love for you?"

"Not . . . doubt. She is very young. Her life thus far has been the Muggle world and these castle walls. Her companions have been known for the past seven years. She has never interacted with those outside of Hogwarts. She's never traveled through the Wizarding World. There are so many more people and things for her to experience. I would let her fly, not clip her wings."

"When?"

Severus whirled around to find Hermione in the doorway behind him. She didn't look angry, just resolute with a determined cast to her features. He swung a quick glance at Pauline, but she just cocked a brow at him.

"When, what?" he finally asked.

"When will I be old enough?"

"Hermione—"

She held up a finger and he stopped. "Today is January the eighth. Will you marry me, Severus?"

He glanced again at Pauline who offered him nothing beyond an enigmatic smile. He shook his head. "I do love you, but in good conscience, I cannot."

Hermione, confusingly, gave him a brilliant smile.

"Will you travel with me and show me all the wondrous places of the Wizarding World?"

He considered her request. "I can do that."

Her smile got impossibly larger. "Will you introduce me to people outside of Hogwarts?"

Severus Snape was not a stupid man. He had no doubt as to what she was offering him. For one moment he considered saying no, but then told himself not to be a fool. He nodded. "It would be my pleasure."

"Good. Then I'll ask you again in a year." She gave him a smile he didn't know how to interpret. "Let me know when it's time." Then she was sprinting across the room, and Severus felt his eyes widen in horror at the idea that she was about to fling herself at him.

Fears of not being able to catch her and falling ignominiously onto his backside were thankfully averted as she skidded to a halt in front of him. Tears were brimming in her eyes and all new fears assailed him. He just resisted the urge to look at Pauline Granger again. "I thought I'd lost you." The words were whispered, and he understood.

Leaning forward, he kissed her.

Somewhere behind him, Pauline Granger was chuckling again. He was really beginning to hate that sound.

* * *

**Author's Note 2:** Bits and pieces of Rowlings' battle are incorporated through this. If you notice words or sentences or paragraphs that seem familiar, they are hers.

**Author's Note 3:** Just so you know I didn't completely make it up, many dentists and assistants are required to maintain CPR certifications. So, it's not entirely out of the realm of possibility that Hermione's mum would know it. And yes, that was the thing I forgot to add to Hermione "tell all" letter to her mum. Hermione was going to make a comment responding to her mum's upcoming training class. I'm a doofus. As for why Hermione didn't do it herself – I had a chat with professionals – nurse and EMT. If you don't do it right, you'll do more harm than good - like broken ribs and punctured lungs bad.

**Author's Note 4:** I considered stopping this chapter after Severus' heart stopped. You guys have no idea the internal struggle that went on. But, I figured after eight years and pleas of "Don't kill him" I probably ought not to do that to you. There might have also been a fear or two for my life if I had left it there. But it was close. Really close.

**Author's Note 5:** Just the epilogue left. _*sigh*_

Sleep my child and peace attend thee,  
All through the night  
Guardian angels God will send thee,  
All through the night  
Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,  
Hill and dale in slumber sleeping  
I my loved ones' watch am keeping,  
All through the night

Angels watching, e'er around thee,  
All through the night  
Midnight slumber close surround thee,  
All through the night  
Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,  
Hill and dale in slumber sleeping  
I my loved ones' watch am keeping,  
All through the night


	52. Epilogue

**Epilogue: Better Known as The End (Finally)**

* * *

**Year One**

They were in Venice during the first year anniversary of Voldemort's defeat. Severus was giving a series of lectures on medical potions. Hermione was being a tourist, of both the magical and Muggle nature. Severus had been true to his word. The two of them had traveled abroad, but even more fascinating to Hermione were the magical enclaves and sites in Britain. She'd never realized how much lay beyond Diagon Alley, Hogsmeads and Hogwarts. She had been introduced to more people than she could remember. Some had simply wanted an autograph, others had wanted to try and share in the fame she generated as Harry Potter's friend. A few had wanted to use her for their own ends, but she'd been taught by one of the sneakiest men alive. She'd mostly just laughed at those efforts. Young she might have been, but she definitely was not a wide-eyed innocent.

Sitting out at Caffe Florian in the Piazza San Marco, Hermione tapped Severus' arm to get his attention. "Today is the sixteenth of January. Are you going to marry me?"

She'd become even better in the year they'd been together at reading his more subtle expressions. She almost laughed when she saw panic flare briefly in his eyes. His words however showed no outward emotional alarm. "Do you wish me to?"

She did laugh at that so carefully crafted answer. "No, I don't think so. I start work as an Arthimancer next week. We still haven't made it to the United States. No, I'm thinking I'm still too young. Don't you agree?"

"I do," he answered with a nod before turning back to the Muggle newspaper he was reading.

Hermione took a sip of her coffee and waited for a full count of sixty seconds. "I think Ron's getting serious about Luna."

Severus turned her a gimlet eye over the top paper, before ducking his head back down. "That would explain why he has been taking longer between moves in our current game."

She took another sip and let him relax just the tiniest bit. "I got an owl yesterday. Harry's asked Ginny to marry him."

This time the paper lowered. Hermione gave him her most innocent smile.

He studied her, assessing her intent and interest in the conversation. After a long moment, he gave a faint _harrumph_ and the paper went back up. "No doubt there will be a passel of Weasleys and Potters on the way shortly."

Hermione dropped the innocent smile and grinned widely at him, even though he couldn't see her. "No doubt," she agreed, before turning back to her tour book to decide what she'd see tomorrow.

* * *

**Year Five**

As Severus strolled through the halls of St Mungo's, his first clue that something was amiss was the preponderance of red-headed individuals. Not surprisingly, the Weasleys were still breeding true. Deciding that discretion was the better part of valour, he decided to make a break for it using the side passageways that riddled the hospital and were reserved for employee use only. He'd just reached one of the semi-secret doors when his name was called.

"Snape."

_Merlin's Toenails. He had almost escaped._

Resigned to the inevitable, he turned around. "Potter. Weasley."

Potter was watching him with the look of studied indifference they had both cultivated over the years. They would never be friends, but they had learned a level of civil tolerance that served them both well. Weasley, however, greeted him with a broad smile. "I had you on that last game, Snape. I can't believe you found a way out of that Bishop's trap."

Weasley had become tolerable over the years, surprisingly enough. Their remote chess games had continued and Weasley had, quite publicly and on more than one occasion, attributed much of his success in the Aurors to Snape's teachings and tactical knowledge. After two years of politely asking, Snape had finally discussed with Weasley how the Death Eaters were organized, the tactics Voldemort had used and ways to combat those self-same tactics. Snape had refused to speak to anyone else.

"I keep telling you, you lean on your Bishop's too much. There is a predictability factor that leads to your eventual defeat."

Ron grimaced, then brightened as he switched topics. "Ginny's up in the maturity ward."

Harry finally spoke up. "The Healers say it's a girl this time. We're going to name her Molly."

"I'm sure she will bear the name proudly. Have you flooed Hermione? She was most disappointed to miss the birth of James. I believe she would wish to be here this time."

"Ron and I flooed her earlier. She's working on some complicated Arthimantic equation for the Ministry, but said she'd be here as soon as she got to a stopping point."

Severus nodded. "When she arrives she will no doubt find me and then we will find Mrs Potter."

He turned to leave only to have Potter stop him. "When are you going to make an honest woman of Hermione? She deserves better, you know."

Severus saw Ron wince at Potter's question.

"I was not aware that Hermione was dishonest." Ron winced again. Before the situation could devolve, and since Hermione had made the point, repeatedly, that in her words he didn't have to be 'a complete wanker' anymore, he continued. "The decision is entirely up to Hermione."

Potter frowned. "You are supposed to ask her. It's how it's done."

Severus arched a brow and gave Potter his best condescending smile. "Hermione, by her own admission, is both bossy and stubborn and I have discovered that she will do as she pleases. If she wishes a more permanent and binding relationship, she will ask for it as she does most things."

"She _does_ ask you. Every year."

He allowed his smile to widen. "Does she? Does she really?"

While the two of them contemplated that, he gave them a short bow. "If you will excuse me, I have duties to attend to. When Hermione arrives we will come find you."

* * *

**Year Twenty**

Hermione slumped against Severus, gasping for breath. Her ear against his chest, she listened to the pounding of his heart. Dexterous fingers, that even now had the ability to drive her to distraction, slid up her back, mapping each of her vertebra on its journey upward.

She stretched upward, arching into his touch and humming her contentment. "Love you," she murmured as she settled back down against him.

"And I you."

She smiled against his shoulder. Twenty years and Severus was still Severus. Not that she'd have him any other way. She'd still never met anyone who challenged, thrilled or annoyed her as much as he did – usually all at the same time.

When his hand switched to carding through her hair, Hermione propped herself up on one elbow so she could see his face. "I'll be as old this year as you were when we faced Voldemort. I've traveled the wizarding world. I've met a thousand people. I have my own vault at Gringotts and a job I adore. I still love you. Marry me?"

Severus regarded her solemnly. She was pleased that no flash of panic filled his eyes nor quickened the heartbeat under her hand.

"I am still your choice?"

The smile she gave him was slow and filled with everything she felt for this wonderful and complicated man. "Always."

"Then yes."

**The End**

* * *

**Author's Note 1: The Fate of Rink**

I figured some of you would want to know the fate of Rink. My original intent was to work him into the epilogue but he just wouldn't fit in correctly. So he gets his own author's note. Soon after Severus leaves Hogwarts and joins St Mungo's, Rink requests clothes from Headmistress McGonagall with Lonny's blessings. He then appears on Snape's doorstep and follows him around until Severus accepts his service out of sheer annoyance, much to Hermione's amusement. Upon the marriage of Severus and Hermione, Rink officially joins the House of Granger house elves.

**Author's Note 2:** Thank you to everyone that has had a hand in this story. The people that have helped me over the years – my betas, my readers, the talented people over at DeviantArt. You guys have pointed out the flaws, encouraged me when I needed it, nagged on occasion, and have helped me to become a better writer. This story would have died seven years ago if it hadn't been for you.

It has been an incredible (and long) journey.

Thank you.

Caeria


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